Blood Is Thicker
by Covetedoutcomes
Summary: When estranged siblings Eli and Clare are forced back into each other's lives because of the loss of their mother, both find it nearly impossible to adjust and get along. They barely know one another, but both quickly begin to realize their bond is much thicker than the blood that binds them together.
1. Rattle and Hum

**Alright, so I feel the need to cover a few things to begin with. One, I know this topic is about as taboo as they come, even though it has been done with Eclare before on here. I've been holding off on uploading this simply for fear of scrutiny, but I have a ton of ideas for this story, so I'd like to pursue it. Second, this story is about Eli and Clare, and they are siblings. As in, related entirely by blood. Not half siblings or step siblings. Same parents, all that jazz. It's rated M because in chapters to come, they will become intimate. If this doesn't sit well with you or you think I'm far too twisted for writing this, just press the tiny "x" on this tab right now, because you've been warned. But, if you choose to stick around and read it, I hope you enjoy the first chapter! I'm thinking the story will change perspectives every few chapters, or sometimes within each chapter, I'm not sure yet. I'll be sure to make the difference between Eli and Clare clear. Reviews are always appreciated, as I love to get feedback to help me grow as a writer. Enjoy!**

* * *

I think one of the things I hate the most about being here is listening to him making love to her. They can go at it for hours, and they're never modest about it either. It wasn't my choice to live here under the same roof with him. Before everything happened, we were content to avoid one another, never intruding in the other one's life. He lived on his own in this tiny apartment, smack dab in the middle of New York City, and me with my mom back in Toronto. Though there were always buried issues, it was fine just avoiding each other. But now, I was all but forced into his life, much to his chagrin, I can tell.

The headboard of his bed is slamming against the wall rhythmically. I wouldn't be surprised if the damn thing crashed through the wall, though I could really do without that. I wish he had a shred of shame, but he never has. That's Eli for you.

I miss having my own room as opposed to a measly futon in the living room that becomes a couch when the sun comes up. As if I don't even exist when I'm not here. As if I'm so very easy to forget. I'm not comfortable here in the city. They may call NYC the land of opportunity, but I for one think it's the land of snobs and uppity drones. This city is mechanical, impersonal. And I want out. Eli seemed to adapt to life here well, as if he'd lived here all along. It was clear to anyone that he was happier now than he ever was in Toronto.

It seems only one of us could enjoy the place at a time. I'm just a person occupying space; a transient visitor. Gone before I arrived, forgotten before I can be missed. I wonder sometimes if Eli even spared a thought on me before I can to live here. Judging by his reactions to me, all signs point to no.

I swear I could willingly tear my own ear drums out as I hear their voices, her chanting his name as if it was her personal mantra. And him, loudly groaning hers. "Imogen, _Imogen_."

The vomit is just begging to come up. Violently.

I pull my headphones on, turning the volume up to an extreme level that would even block out a nearby gunshot. At once I can feel and hear my ears ringing, but it's better than listening to them. I'd prefer a migraine from my music than a mental scarring from them.

After about fifteen minutes, the bedroom door slams shut, my eyes shooting right to it as a shirtless Eli emerges from his room. His bangs are plastered to his forehead with sweat, his cheeks bloody red.

Just seeing him like this makes _my_ cheeks go red. I'm not even sure why.

He shoots me a look, one I can't quite read. I'm not sure how to respond, clearing my throat and returning myself to my busywork.

"Sure you don't want to move out?" Eli jokes, though I can feel the bit of truth in it. It's hard to explain to him that I _don't_ want to be here. I am by force.

"Nope, but I lack another option, don't I?" I shoot back, my voice venomous with annoyance.

I hear a small "hmph" of indifference from him as he grabs a beer from his fridge. Before, when Eli lived at home, he never drank. It's still weird seeing him pop open a can, as if he's been doing it since he came out of the womb. As unfamiliar as I am with him, I know this wasn't a trait he had in him before. "I'm not going to stop bringing my girlfriend over just because you're here."

My eyes roll, having heard this over and over again. Somehow the term "girlfriend" just eats at me. Fuck buddy would be far more fitting, truth be told. I don't like Imogen. She has this irksome buoyancy to her that just makes me want to make her miserable, bring her down to my level. I wish Eli would tire of her, but it doesn't seem likely. "I get it, it's fine. I just drown your god awful sounds out with my music."

At this, Eli strolls over, his signature smirk pasted on his face. This can only mean mischief, no doubt. "You know, you could go get a boyfriend of your own to have fun with, instead of being bitter about me and my sex life." I can literally feel my jaw dropping at his nerve, how pompous he is.

To be honest, I've never had a serious boyfriend, but Eli doesn't know this. Keeping that in mind, he also doesn't realize I'm still a virgin obviously. He doesn't need to know this either.

"I-I know. I'm not interested right now, that's all." I stammer, adjusting my headphones around my neck nervously.

The damn smirk widens, his pearly white teeth peeking through. "Yeah, you keep saying that, Clare. One of these days I'll come home to _you_ moaning, and then it'll be your turn to piss _me_ off." Without consent I can feel my face heating up. Not just at the thought being heard having sex, but being heard by _him_. It's too bizarre to ponder, so I spare myself the trouble.

I shake my head dismissively, doing my best to mask the fact that Eli got to me, even if it was unintentional. It isn't even worth a rebuttal, I decide.

It seems he's taking this as a victory for him, which is fine by me. Deep down, he did win, but I'll never give him the satisfaction, especially when I barely comprehend everything I'm thinking.

_"Eliiii!"_ a whiny voice shrills from the bedroom, his little pet beckoning him back to bed.

"The lady needs me. I'd put those headphones back on if I were you. It's going to be a long night." He cocks an eyebrow at me, grinning before he retreats back to his room with the slam of his door. As if on cue, the sounds commence, signaling to me the need to drown it out with music once more. I lay down on my tiny futon in my corner of the world, attempting to ignore my brother's moans, and how much they're making the place between my legs throb.


	2. An Honest Mistake

** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Again, this story is a little off the wall, but I find that I enjoy those types most of all anyway. In this chapter, Eli gets a little taste for something he never realized he could crave. You guessed it; Clare. If you enjoy it, please post a review! It's encouraging to see an interest or following in a story, otherwise I just tend to let it sit for a while. This chapter is a little short, which I chalk up to being busy with school as of late. Things will pick up with time. Again, I'm always open to criticism, it can only make me a better writer. Enjoy! **

* * *

I find that I live for the scent of wafting coffee in small cafes across the city. Call me a coffee connoisseur, if you will. Nothing else satisfies me quite as much as the anticipation of waiting for a cup. Except perhaps having sex. I think that beats nearly everything, not surprisingly.

Finally as I get my fix, I turn to the exit to myself out into the busy street. I find it funny how some people look so confused, almost violated as they attempt to navigate the city. Not me. It doesn't pay to lose your cool in such a hustling, bustling place.

My apartment isn't far, about ten minutes away. As I reach the door leading up to the stairwell, I realize I probably should have picked something up for Clare, but I'm not even sure if she likes coffee. I'm not sure about what she does or doesn't like in general, honestly.

Clare is something of an enigma to me. Even when we were little, I found it difficult to figure her out. Perhaps it was because her head was always stuck in a book or maybe I'm just not perceptive enough, didn't pay the necessary amount of attention. Either way, the distance between us seems far too expansive now to build a bridge between, linking her mindset with mine. I'd be lying if I said I didn't regret not getting to know her better, but Toronto would have eaten me alive had I stayed. It did with our parents, it would have with me, and especially to Clare. I'd be damned if I chained myself to that same fate.

Wandering to the bottom entryway to my apartment complex, I can't help but wonder what brought Clare here, to me. Obviously Mom passed. Aneurysm, they said. Absolutely noway to prevent it and nearly impossible to detect ahead of time. It hit her like a bat out of hell, leaving Clare without a guardian since dad left years before.

It always struck me as odd; how it's always been our little cluster of a family. First mom, dad, Clare, and I. Then mom, Clare, and I, then Clare and mom.

And now, down to Clare and I. Perhaps the most unlikely of pairings out of how that could have turned out. Neither of us are overjoyed about it, but there's no choice in the matter. My privacy has been invaded, and while I'm not fond of that, I refuse to run my life differently because of Clare. Adapt or go, that's my rule.

Still I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not getting her something from the cafe, just for the thought behind it. She is my sister, after all.

* * *

"Oh god." I stammered, biting down on my bottom lip to stifle my own sounds. Even though Eli isn't home, I'm generally careful about my noise level when pleasuring myself.

Obviously the girl on the screen isn't nearly as concerned about that, moaning and panting with wild abandon as she rides the guy.

Every time I watch porn, I feel so dirty. I say it as though I'm a seasoned pro at watching it, when really this would count as maybe my third time in my life. But since the other night listening to Eli, that feeling won't go away. That pulsing, almost begging throb. I need to release somehow, even if I end up regretting it later. It's like a mechanism of torture almost, or a test of my willpower, which I have none to speak of. I'm not even entirely sure what people focus on while watching this. I just keep watching how he rams his hips into hers as she rides him, how his hand goes to her clit and rubs tirelessly as she throws her head back in ecstasy.

I'm about as wet as I can possibly get, my fingers not moving even nearly fast enough to satisfy me. Something mechanical would do the trick, or something with more girth. The mere thought has me turning a bright shade of crimson.

Flicking my thumb over my clit, I can feel it all coming to a head; my hips bucking up to meet my fingers. It almost feels naughty doing this, knowing I could get caught at any moment-

"I got coffee, none for you though, deal with- Clare?" Eli stammers, eliciting a shrill of fear and embarrassment from me. Embarrassment doesn't even cover it. I'm mortified. I quickly pull a blanket over my lower half.

"Why are you home so soon?!"

"Why are you masturbating in the living room?!" he retorts.

I come up empty on a reply. Probably because the futon is out here and so is my laptop, but I'd like to think his question is rhetorical.

All the while the video is still playing, and the girl finally came. Took long enough, and I'm jealous that I didn't get to.

With his hand over his eyes, Eli goes to his room. "Just, continue if you must. I'll be...yeah." he awkwardly articulates. Even as his door shuts, I know I can't finish. The moment was fleeting, and was killed the moment he barged in. I'm sure I'll be blushing perpetually in his presence from this point on.

* * *

Even though I just saw it, I can barely believe that happened. Clare, propped up on the futon with her back arched, her hand between her legs, whimpering quietly. I wish I could get the image out of my head, and in the same way, I don't. I hope it permanently stains my memory because it might be the hottest thing I've ever seen.

For some reason I either can't pinpoint or admit to myself, I put down the coffee and hastily remove my pants and boxers, sitting myself on my bed. This is wrong. In every single way it possibly could be, it's wrong. Seeing her touch herself wasn't supposed to happen, and now jerking off to the thought? If I ever felt twisted and sick in my own life., it was now. But I was already lost in it, my hand pumping up and down my incredibly hard length as I pictured the short lived scene.

I can still hear her whining if I think about it enough, her hips moving up off the seat to get more, to please herself. God she looked sexy with her legs spread like that.

At once I reach my finish with a low, inaudible groan, my eyes fluttering open and closed while I try to wrap my mind around what just happened. My baby sister was in my living room, masturbating for no one's eyes but her own. Yet I saw it and managed to get off on it myself.

I can't even begin to understand what this means so I dismiss it, writing it off as a momentary lapse of judgment on both our parts. She won't make the same mistake twice, not with how furiously she blushed. Though I wish she would, just so I could get a better look next time.


	3. Never Let Me Go

**Thank you for continuing to read! I got a very, very big burst of inspiration for this story and it's starting to take a very drastic turn. This chapter is more focused on Eli and Clare's background, and it begins to unravel what used to be their home life. It also begins a bit of a mystery concerning Eli, a plot point that will be further explored as the story goes on. It's a lengthy one, so I hope that makes up for how short the others were. The entire chapter is from Clare's point of view. Review if you feel so inclined! I always appreciate the feedback! **

* * *

Nothing about the city feels like home. It's always bright outside of these windows, the lights never dying out since no one sleeps here, or so they say. I'm used to the sound of crickets chirping, cars driving by on slightly damp pavement throughout the night. The ticking of the clock in the far corner of my room. Small, simple comforts that I must have taken for granted all along. No matter how much I might kick myself for it now, it's all too late. That life was left behind the minute I lost mom.

I wonder if Eli ever got this homesick when he left. I doubt it, simply because of how stoic he's always been. The strongest emotion I've ever seen out of him was anger. Fury would be a more appropriate word. And only towards dad. I suppose that sort of genuine feeling was only reserved for him, even if it wasn't in a positive light.

I wish sleep would come take me away prematurely today, the pillow beneath my head heating up uncomfortably every few minutes, causing me to flip it over, twist and turn. I've developed a kink in my back courtesy of this flimsy futon I've been sleeping on each night. Part of me wants to ask Eli if he could swing a bed for me, even just a mattress. It wouldn't need to be anything big, but even doing so much as asking if there's any cereal left earns a grunt of annoyance from him. I could swear his irritation towards me has only gotten worse since he walked in on me, as if I'd been planning it. The memory itself makes my cheeks burn harshly, the embarrassment from the situation not having worn off yet. I'm sure it never will.

Grin and bear it has been my new motto, and just about the only thing getting me through each day. Such a crippling loneliness has ensnared me. I'm stuck in it's grasp, and I fear I'm doomed to this feeling until I'm able to break out on my own.

One would think that perhaps with their own flesh and blood, they could seek comfort. Not Eli and I. I hate it.

My body jerks up in surprise as I hear the door slam, an angry Eli storming in, walking past the living room where I am and right to his room. Another slam is heard, this time more forcefully. Even the click of Eli locking himself into his room seems like a sonic boom to my ears. My nerves are a bit on edge as I turn over, still seeking that one position that I'll find most comfortable, though I bet it will keep evading me for the rest of the night. My eyes shift towards the clock and it reads 2:42 AM.

Trying to let sleep find you is almost more exhausting than actually crashing after a long day. Suffocating too, as I'm finding out the hard way.

Much to my surprise, my body starts to calm down, my system adjusting to the honks and yells outside, the small movements coming from Eli's footsteps in his room. My eyelids feel heavier with each passing second, and I could swear my lips are curling up into a grateful smile as my consciousness slips.

Until a third bang is heard, the loudest yet. I wake with a start, and at once tears of frustration start to brim in my eyes. I turn towards the stretch leading to the hall and notice Eli, pacing back and forth while he mumbles to himself. Despite the fact that he's visibly distraught, my patience has run out for him much like his did for me the moment I stepped foot into his home. "I was finally falling asleep!" I yell at him, my voice cracking as the frustration of not being able to fall into a peaceful oblivion eats me alive. Nothing is easy here, nothing comes naturally. Not even my bond with my brother.

"Welcome to the city, Clarebelle! No one sleeps, everyone fucks each other over and you're never going to get a moment of peace!" he booms back at me, the green in his eyes somehow looking darker, more concentrated than it normally does. It's only now that I notice that same fury he used to project towards our dad in his stare, his gait. But now it's on me, and that sends multiple chills down my spine.

Still, I've never known how to keep my mouth shut, and that generally has a habit of getting me in trouble.

"Do you know how hard it is to relax here? The moments I can relax are spent alone, on this futon with springs in my back! And I'm lonely all day. I haven't gotten the okay from my old school to register here so I'm wasting away, and when you get home you either have Imogen with you, or you want nothing to do with me!" At this point I let the tears fall, far past my shame in crying, showing humanity. At the very least, I can take solace in knowing that out of the two of us, I'm the only one capable of showing it.

Eli looks to me, and his expression reads as a cross between a glare and a sympathetic frown. I find myself mentally cursing his ability to confuse me, his whole disposition impossible to read. I don't know how he mastered such a skill but it's almost scary. The whole world can be shut out of those green hues of his, only leaving behind what he wants everyone to see.

"I work, Clare. I work, and I go to school too. NYU isn't a cake walk, and I have to work to keep living here. Even more so to support you as well." he spits out, laying the blame on thick. Yet again, I'm a bother to him, a nuisance. An expense that puts him out of his way. I wish I was brave enough to go sleep on a park bench instead, but god only knows what would happen to me out there. Surely nothing worse than I've already endured, but I'd rather not let the past repeat itself.

My bottom lip feels bruised and abused as I realize I've been gnawing on it for the past few moments, finally setting it free from between my teeth as I draw in a breath. "I never wanted to come here. I wanted to be home with mom but-" my voice cracks, that familiar queasy feeling resurfacing as I let thoughts of our mom hit me. Anytime I think of her now, I don't hear her light laughter, or smell the perfume she always wore. I don't remember how I'd always help her hang up laundry on Sunday afternoons or the way she'd come home with dresses or sweaters for me occasionally. All I can see is her lying on the ground lifeless, that tortured expression adorning her face. I hear the ambulance but more than that, I hear my own screams deafening me. It's all the more vivid when I dream it. I cry the same tears I did that day, but they scorch my cheeks on the way down, and no one listens when I tell them I feel alone. In my nightmsares, there is no Eli to let me come live with them. There's no one.

For a moment I think I've caught his attention enough to break him from his reverie, but again, I can't be sure when it comes to him. "I miss her, Eli." I choke out, my hand lifting quickly to wipe the tears from my eyes. Weakness, weakness. That's all I can think of anymore when I feel the moisture coming. He says nothing back to me, and that speaks louder than any words he could utter. Obviously he's been away from mom so long that he doesn't even feel this same grief over her death. How he manged to desensitize himself so much, I'll never know. I wouldn't want to. It's terrifying, how detached he is.

I turn over hastily and face the wall, my body shaking as I fight off the urge to cry again, to sob until the pillow is soaked through. I hear his footsteps and assume he's making his way back to his room until I feel arms around me, and then my body being lifted. It's a shock to my system, but I don't fight back as Eli picks me up and carries me out of the living room. I have no more fight in me. None at all.

He walks to his room, gingerly carrying me as if I was a china doll, apt to break at any point. It's a relief to be placed on his bed, though I can only imagine what sort of unspeakable things have been done in it. Still, there are no springs, no coils digging into my back. And the sheets smell like him. No matter how little I know about Eli, I know his scent, and it never fails to set my mind at ease.

"You're sleeping here from now on. I'll take the futon." he mumbles, grabbing the covers from the end of the bed and sliding them over my frame. I can't help but smile slightly as I nod, more grateful for his kind gesture than he probably realizes. He says nothing else once I'm tucked in, looking down at me questioningly as I settle in. Soon he's walking away and the door closes, only left ajar as his hand pulls on the knob. My eyes close and yet again I'm in tears, as though it's the only function I'm capable of anymore. It's the exhaustion again, but it's mixed with relief. Because of that, I can bear it. I turn my back to the door and clutch the blanket, reveling in the scent, the warmth, the much needed comfort it all supplies me with. Slowly everything calms down again, and the door creaks open. Quietly this time. I don't have the energy to turn back to see Eli so I don't bother, but I'm surprised as he comes up behind me, laying beside me. His hand reaches for my head, his lanky fingers combing slowly through my curls.

"It's just me, you can rest." he whispers, and I turn back, meeting his eyes. He looks even more worn out than I previously assumed he was, as if he was mirroring my expression exactly. It's only now that I wonder what he was so uptight about to begin with. I turn towards him, eying him curiously.

"Are you alright?" I ask carefully, not wanting to say anything to make him leave. His company is helping more than he knows, and I'm afraid that he'll up and go like he usually does.

He nods carefully, as if gauging how much conviction to puts into the gesture. It's not enough to convince me. Eli must sense the skepticism in my stare because he smirks, moving his whole palm against my scalp. The warmth is heavenly, and I can already feeling it lulling me to sleep. "I'm fine, I promise. I had a bad day at school, and I've never been good at handling my anger. I'm fine though, I swear." I still don't believe a word he says, but my eyelids are growing heavier by the second.

"You used to do this when we were little, when I couldn't sleep. After mom and dad-" I start, and he cuts me off, his expression shifting a bit.

"When they used to fight. I know. It calmed you right down, and it seems like you could use that now too." he replies quickly, and I hush for fear of making him want to leave.

Instinctively my body curls into his, my head pressed against his chest. He's sturdy, warm, and I can't help but love the safety I feel in his grasp. It's been years since he's offered this kind of closeness, and I'm in no position to refuse it.

"Please don't go after I fall asleep, like you usually do. Stay with me." I ask, and immediately after regret doing so as I worry if I was being too demanding or accusatory.

Instead he surprises me, using his free arm to pull me closer. "I'm not going anywhere."

That's all the convincing I need to successfully pass out. Everything about the moment is perfect to me, my body entirely still as I listen to Eli's breaths, how they slow down the longer we lay together. Right before I succumb to the Sandman, I feel his lips press against my forehead. It's perhaps the most loving gesture he's ever offered me. I can't deny that I crave his affection, and at this rate, I can't go without it.


	4. Every Burden Has a Version

**Thanks for checking back on this story! This chapter is from Eli's perspective, and it centers around his mysterious and erratic behavior when he got home in the last chapter. You'll also see a bit of Imogen in this one. I feel the need to say, since I've seen this in a few reviews, I'm not an Imogeli shipper. It's probably blatantly obvious that my leaning is Eclare, no matter what the setting or story line happens to be. But in chapters to come, we'll begin to see Imogen start a little trouble for our inconveniently related lovers. As the saying goes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and by the end of this chapter, scorned barely scrapes the surface. **

**Review if you please! Broken record over here but I love hearing reactions and such. Also, I'm a bit open-ended on how the next chapter will go, so if you have any ideas, let me know! I'm considering picking it up directly where it leaves off but from Clare's perspective. **

**In any event, enjoy!**

* * *

Even now the envelope felt heavy in my hands, five days after receiving it. With each day that I failed to tell her, the contents inside seemed to feel heavier to me, as if each 12 point font times new roman letter was a ton in and of itself, the signature at the bottom acting as an anchor, pulling the entire letter down into the depths of god knows where .

**_Randall Edwards. _**

It was the name printed on my birth certificate, under the label of "father", though we both knew that was merely a technicality, nothing more. It was the name my mother would yell in fury in years past, only to be returned by the slamming of the front door with his departure . Most of all, it was the name I worked so hard to detach myself from, going so far as to leave Canada to escape it. To take on my mother's last name for all legal and social intents and purposes; Goldsworthy. I could stomach her bloodline far more than my father's.

Yet here it was in chicken scratch cursive right before me, more likely than not written with a fine point gel pen. Ball point would have been classier, but Randall has never been one for class.

My blood boils as I contemplate tearing it up, though I know it wouldn't be a wise idea to do so. It was one thing to disregard it. Another to try and pretend it never existed at all.

I can't believe he's finally taking interest, after all of these years. All of the fights, how he left mom, and most of all, everything he did to Clare.

Which is why I'll be damned if she find out about this. It'll only serve to upset her, open old wounds and rub the salt in. After helping her sleep the past few nights, staying by her side and brushing my fingers through her hair to calm her, I'm beginning to see just how traumatized she is.

I've gotten slapped many a time while she rests, jerking me to attention from my slumber until I realize it's her. I've lost count of the amount of times I've heard her mutter, _"stop,"_, _"please"_, and _"leave me alone." _Her voice is always frightened, belittled. I hate the bastard who instilled this fear in her. I can't stomach the way her face contorts in terror as she tosses and turns, running from memories that plague her subconscious. I can do nothing but hold her closer as she wakes in a cold, disoriented sweat, letting her know that I'm there. That from now on, I'm here. I'm never going to leave her alone again.

The only pleasant thing I've gotten from her so far as she sleeps is the way she smiles, almost like she did when we were little and I'd take her to the park. And one night, I saw her lips moving as she glowed with the corners of her lips upturned. No words came out but I swear she was mouthing my name, "_Eli"_. The expression she wore was so fond, so full of adoration.

I can only hope that I was the one to elicit such a genuine smile from her.

Just as my mind starts traveling into questionable territory, I feel hands suddenly grip my shoulders, a quiet "boo" whispered in my ear.

I jump nearly a foot up in the air, stuffing the letter into my coat pocket hastily before she can see. "Hey, babe." I mutter breathlessly, the adrenaline from her unexpected arrival shaking me.

"Hey jumpy. Whatcha hiding?" Imogen inquires, shooting me an inquisitive smile. She's cute, I'll give her that, but there's no way that I'm letting her become privy to this fiasco and how deep it runs. She knows next to nothing about my family and that was how I prefer to keep it.

"Oh, nothing. Junk mail." I whisper dismissively, remembering we were both in the campus library. It was the perfect excuse to stay mum, and that was my game plan despite her needling and persistent questions.

She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, the tiny bells adorning her petite flat-clad feet jingling as she did. "Is it a present for me?" Her eyes dart to where I had tucked the envelope in my coat curiously, though it came across as nosy in my opinion.

"No, not for you." I reply with a forced laugh, attempting to mask my growing frustration with her.

"Then what is it?" She stops rocking , a mischievous smile decorating her slender, elf-like features. She looks as if a light bulb has just lit up in her mind, and I know this can only mean trouble. "Maybe I'll just snatch it myself!" she squeals quietly, reaching for that vulnerable spot right at my ribs where I'm ticklish. She knows it's my weakness. My face breaks into a smile as I laugh though on the inside I'm fuming, raging with contempt and disgust for her. In my mostly immobilized state, she swipes the letter from my pocket, triumphantly waving it about as she releases me from her tickle attack.

As soon as I collect myself I jump to my feet, all but clawing it from her tiny hand and gripping it tightly in my fist. "Do you not understand me when I say it has _nothing_ to do with you?" I seethe through gritted teeth, my eyes feeling as though they could easily burst forth from my face.

The look on her face should make me feel guilty, or at least persuade me to take a more mild approach but it does neither. If anything, it solidifies my stance on the matter. "You're a nosy, persistent brat, Moreno. The world doesn't revolve around you, newsflash. I'm tired of you sticking your little nose in my shit." My eyes narrow at her, my nostrils flaring to a degree I didn't even know they were capable of. My fuse is exceptionally short when it concerns this topic, my defensive nature for Clare overriding all else. "You know, I'm not sure why I even deal with you anymore. For a good_ fuck_? Maybe for company?" I sneer, getting a bit closer to her than I know she's comfortable with. "I'm done with you. Stay out of my business and my life."

As I turn to grab my book bag and hurry off away from her, I realize the phrase I just spat out hardly sounds like one a loving boyfriend would say to his girlfriend, but I barely care. I'm done donating my time to a girl who hangs off of me as if she has nothing better to do. I can live without her whining. She pries too often, attempts to figure me out. I'm like an experiment to her, a psychological plaything she can tweak and test. But everyone has those specific buttons that should never be pushed. Much to my dismay, she's figured out every last one over the past year and a half. Or perhaps she missed one that was only created recently: Clare.

Hurrying off to the parking lot, I get inside the driver's side door of my hearse and start the engine up, swiftly exiting the college campus.

Even as I drive I can feel the letter burning a hole in my jacket, the heat radiating off and scorching my chest where it rests against. My hands grip the steering wheel more firmly, attempting to calm myself as I enter the busy streets of Manhattan

Imogen can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. There's only one girl I need to give my full time and attention to. And currently she's at home, waiting for me to arrive so we can have a "sibling bonding night" as she so cheerily coined it. It basically translates to sappy romance movies of her choosing all night long, followed by a bout of her crying on my shoulder.

And for some reason I can't quite explain, I can't wait.


	5. Real Talk

**It took me a bit to write this one up, since I was unsure where I wanted to take it. This picks up right where the last chapter left off, with Eli and Clare's "bonding" night. Not exactly how most siblings would bond, but I digress. **

**The interest in this story has been really encouraging! Thank you again for the lovely reviews and for adding it to your favorites!**

**The next chapter will have some *ahem* mature activity in it. Just a heads up. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I'd be lying if I said I haven't been waiting anxiously for Eli to come home. Though I generally check the clock frequently as it is, the amount of times my head has jerked to the face clock on the wall has doubled today. It's outrageous, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

It's encouraging in a way. He agreed to spend the whole evening with me, indulging my love for cheesy romantic comedies and Nicholas Sparks. He'd prefer something blood and guts related, but luckily he's relenting for my sake.

Over the past hour I've prepared for the night, preheating the oven for a pizza, tidying up the living room area and stealing all of the pillows from Eli's room, placing them on the couch instead. I did the same with the blankets, grabbing three and leaving them about. Now the living room looks like quite possibly the most comfortable place on Earth. I hope he'll agree once he arrives.

I hear the oven beep, signaling that it's preheated to a toasty three hundred and fifty degrees. The nervous energy I'm harboring influences me to scurry in, a small smile adorning my lips as I open the freezer door and extract a pizza box. Eli and I are no chefs. I can make a mean stove top mac n cheese, but my skills don't reach much beyond that. Neither do his, so neither of us mind these precooked meals or even take out. Mom would be frowning, waving her finger chidingly at the pair of us. I only wish I'd paid more attention to the creation of her meals while she was alive.

Once the pizza is placed on the center of the first rack, I close the oven door and set the timer for twenty two minutes. By that time Eli should be back, as long as Imogen doesn't detain him.

I would hope that for the first time we're really going to hang out, Eli wouldn't let himself be late. Even though she has a habit of running his life, I'm hoping against hope that he'll choose not to be whipped this time around. To think someone as headstrong as him could be swayed by a 5'4, barely one hundred pound heavy girl is astonishing. Such a tiny person, such a strong hold over him. I envy that.

As soon as I wander back into the living room I see the door crack open, his raven hair peeking just around the side of it. At once my face lights up and I hurry over. I wish my enthusiasm was just a bit more muted, but there's no helping it.

"Hi!" My voice is about five octaves higher than I intended it to be while taking in his breathless entrance.

He turns to me and slowly the corners of his lips turn up into a smirk. That smirk that instead of feeling bitter about, I've come to adore over the past few days.

I'm alarmed at how rapidly my heart begins to beat because of him, my cheeks flushing just slightly as well.

"Hey there." he replies with that grin, his own face a light pink from the chilly November evening air. "You look nice." he comments, though I fail to see how until I remember that I stole one of his shirts this morning. I look down at my own frame and chuckle, loving how the Arcade Fire shirt fits so loosely on me. What makes it even better is the fact that he likes the way his clothes look on me.

Compliments from my older brother shouldn't effect me in such a potent way, I know. But his approval is beginning to mean more and more to me. Though he forked over the usage of his bed to me indefinitely, I usually convince him not to go to the living room, claiming I sleep better with him beside me. And I do, that is true, but it isn't necessarily the only reason either.

I watch as he shrugs off his wool coat and hangs it up, then leading the way back into the living room.

"What are you making?" he asks as I grab the remote, turning on the TV.

"Pizza," I call out in reply, though I imagine he's already well into the kitchen and already took notice of it baking in the oven.

Turning on Netflix, I search through the options, settling once I see they have The Vow in the listings. Though I was previously fixed on watching The Notebook or A Walk To Remember, I find the pull to this title too strong to resist. My soft spot for Channing Tatum cannot be denied. Eli will have to grin and bear it.

I push some pillows aside to make room for myself and Eli, sinking into the nook of it. Already everything feels cozy, but I crave his warmth next to me. I've become far too accustomed to it.

With the sound of his footsteps coming back in, my pulse quickens slightly. "Oh no. Not that one. Come on," he groans, his voice lacking jest and actually suggesting sincere displeasure in my choice. He points an accusatory finger at the screen, but it's doing nothing to dissuade me.

"You said whatever I wanted, and this is what I want." I state in a sing-song tone of voice, earning a roll of his piercing green eyes at my decision and taunting. He may moan and whine all throughout, but I'm sure he'll enjoy it. Even if he never owns up to it.

With a huff of annoyance, Eli sits beside me and right off the bat, my nerves kick in. I click play and it starts. Not surprisingly Eli grabs the remote as the previews start, impatiently fast forwarding through them. When I look to him he grimaces, shaking his head. "Might as well get right to the torture, skip all of this pretense."

"Torture, sure. You know you have a small, closeted romance film lover in you."

"No." he replies quickly. "Especially not after the day I had."

This piques my curiosity, and although I shouldn't inquire, I can't help myself. "Today? What happened today?"

The look on his face is surly and for a moment, I think I'm the cause until his expression perks up and pulls me into him. "Shh, enjoy your movie." My head falls to his chest, my pulse picking up again as his hand rests on my arm. As if we were a couple. Non-related, enjoying a movie together night together.

But we are related, and it's not a movie night for a pair of lovers..

Still, I wouldn't shy away from him for anything in the world, my eyes remaining fixed on the screen as the beginning of the movie plays out.

"I broke up with Imogen." he says quietly after a few minutes, stroking my arm gently as he speaks, his fingertips leaving a tingling sensation behind in their wake. I look up at him but he doesn't return the eye contact.

"What happe-" I begin to ask as the timer for the pizza goes off.

"You stay here, I've got it." he offers, smiling down at me in a way I could swear he's trying to manipulate to seem charming. As always, no effort necessary.

I nod and watch as he gets up, missing his body against mine at once. The idea of him being broken up with Imogen is foreign to me, as she's made a habit of coming over frequently, making her presence and position in his life known all too well. But for the past week, he'd been canceling plans with her. I realize in giving his bedroom to me each night, he's also opted himself out of getting laid regularly, which is not like Eli at all. At least not the Eli I think I know. There really must be trouble in paradise. Before I can draw up my own conclusions he returns, one plate with two slices of pizza on it in his hand. He lowers it to me, allowing me to whichever one I want.

"I suppose we should continue on with this taste of hell, eh?" Eli suggests, and now I'm sure he's avoiding talking about Imogen. Not that I can really blame him. She's not my favorite topic of conversation either, but my own inquisitive nature is winning out on this. I bite my tongue to keep from bickering though.

The movie starts again and already, I can feel my eyes pricking with unshed tears. I know they'll get in the car accident, and she'll fly through the windshield with the impact. And from there, she'll lose her memory.

I realize I barely have an appetite between watching the movie and sitting so close to Eli.

"You know this was based off of true events, right?" I ask, attempting to give him what I consider to be supplementary information to make the movie more enjoyable.

"Hmph." he nods in reply, scarfing down his slice of pizza similarly to how a lion would consume a bloody carcass.

I make an effort to stay quiet from there on, knowing Eli doesn't care to talk and more than that, he hates what we're watching.

My mind wanders and I get lost in the plot until it suddenly pauses. I look to Eli, wondering why he did it.

"Are you going to eat that?" He gestures to my half eaten slice. I should have known better truthfully With a roll of my eyes, I hand over my plate to him so he can all but inhale it.

"Now press play."

"Sheesh, demanding much?" His smirk is cute but I don't care for it much at the moment.

"Now." I emphasize, and he clicks the button on the remote without further ado.

About halfway through I lean further into the pillows, and he slips his arm around me again. I don't understand his desire for close proximity with me, but when it comes to Eli, it's best not to question these things and simply enjoy them while they last.

Out of nowhere it pauses again and this time, I'm genuinely annoyed with him.

"What? You took my pizza. What do you want?" I barely even understand my own frustration at him. Maybe it's because he won't talk about what happened with Imogen, or the fact that feeling his arm around me is filling me with a desire I shouldn't have.

"You've been kissed before, right?" he questions, and I freeze up. Why would he even be asking me this? It's not a logical, run of the mill inquiry shared between siblings. At least not as far as I can tell.

"I-well, uh, yeah. Of course." I stammer out, hoping he'll let it go. But I feel as though that's almost definitely too much to ask of him.

* * *

Her tone says it all, as if I wasn't sure to begin with. I get an almost sadistic glee out of seeing Clare on edge, so I'm going to milk this for all it's worth.

"Oh yeah? When? With who?" Genuine curiosity and that urge to push her buttons fuel my inquiries. Clare shifts uncomfortably in her seat, even attempts to get away from my grasp on her. To no avail though. I wouldn't let her go for anything.

"Some boy at camp last year." Her lie is transparent.

"You didn't go to camp last year."

"How would you know? You weren't even there." I can tell she's trying to spit these phrases out with indifference, but her tone is betraying her true feelings on the matter. She's bitter at me for leaving, I know it.

"We may not have talked, but I kept in touch with Mom. She said you didn't want to go. That you were seeming depressed, withdrawn. She was worried about you."

It's only then that I realize what a sore subject our mother has become since her passing. Her face puckers up like she's jut tasted a lemon, and then the tears. Yet again, she's crying, it's all my fault.

After dabbing at her eyes, Clare looks up at me, her expression stone-like. "I've never been kissed, okay? Happy? Tease me all you want now."

She doesn't understand my intention in asking. It wasn't to chastise or mock her. "I'm relieved." Clare cocks an eyebrow at me in bewilderment.

"You're too good for any boy that could kiss you," I explain, looking away from her. "They wouldn't treat you like deserve to be."

"So you expect me to never get kissed because no one would ever be good enough?" I lack a reply so I say nothing. Her body trembles a bit beside mine and I see she's started crying once more.

"So Mom left. My friends at home don't even call, you're barely around. Do you really want me to be all alone, Eli?"

I can't help it when I pull her to my chest, hugging her as she cries. I can't stand seeing her in pain of any sort. Least of all when I spurred it. When I'm contributing to her pain. A direct source of it. Out of instinct, I press my lips to her forehead, a meager attempt to soothe her.

"I love when you do that," she whispers, her voice shaky from crying. Her head lifts back up to meet my eyes, and the look she gives me terrifies me. Longing, need, adoration. It's all there, or it isn't and I just want to see it so badly.

There's no time to think before I do it, my lips making their way to hers of their own accord. The world seems right for that one instant, her plump, full pink lips on my chapped ones. She barely moves, my lips adjusting to shape hers, to initiate the kiss. But she seems frozen for a second until finally her mouth moves, finding mine carefully. It's a tender kiss, one that acts as more of a question than a statement, and both of us lack the answer.

As I pull back, I know she'll freak out. I've dreamed about this situation countless times, and I'm prepared for it. For the rejection I'm bound to face. But she surprises me.

Her hand moves to my cheek. "Kiss me again." she breathes, and there's no stopping the way my body moves towards hers like a magnet, my hands and lips shaping to everything she needs, everything she wants. There's no denying Clare, and if she'll let me, I'll continue succumbing to her charm time and time again. Morals and legality be damned, I'm entangled in her web. A willing victim, just begging her to devour me.


	6. The Devil Will Want You Back

**So...this update took a few eons to get done, my apologies for anyone who actually got invested in this. My life got crazy for a while. It still is crazy, but I was feeling inspired. This is a fairly lengthy one, but covers a lot of ground for Eli and Clare.**

**Also, I half-lied about the smut. It's near smut? Either way, there's going to be some sort of smutty goodness in nearly every chapter from here on out. It'll be a gradual thing.**

**Anyway, without further ado, here's the sixth chapter. I'll love you forever for reviews. They really do inspire me to update.**

* * *

I wake up to an empty bed, besides my body taking up half of it. Just eight hours prior, I know Eli was next to me. I can still feel his lips peppering my skin with kisses, his breaths coming out in short pants as my fingers threaded through his hair.

It wasn't a conventional night for sibling bonding, to say the least.

A part of my brain keeps telling me it didn't happen, that my subconscious conjured it all up merely to torture me. It wouldn't be surprising. I roll lazily out of bed, pushing my wild bedhead curls out of my face.

When I stumble out of the room, I make my way through the living room and into the kitchen. Eli isn't there, only a pot of half consumed coffee remaining in the sink to show he was in there at all. My feet shuffle out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. The door is ajar when I reach it.

"Eli?" I call out hesitantly, prodding it forward until I see that there's no one inside.

It's not like Eli to leave without scribbling out a note first, at least not recently. And especially after last night, I hope he'd be extra vigilant about it.

It makes me worry so much less when I see a note reading, "_Out for coffee – I'll get you a tea._" or "_Impromptu play rehearsal, call my cell if you need me_." But there's no note on the fridge, the counter, his pillow on his side of the bed. As if he upped and left.

And then it occurs to me – he probably did.

My chest feels like it's imploding as I sit myself on the futon in the living room, cursing its pointy coils silently as I seat myself on it.

I should have known better. His leaning forward to kiss me that first time must have been a fleeting urge, something he came to regret. It wasn't like I could blame him. And if it hadn't been for my own severely stifled feelings, it never would have happened. How hard would it have been to push him away? To simply say "no"?

Rational thought clearly wasn't in my grasp at the time. It rarely ever is when it comes to Eli. No one distracts me quite like he does, stealing my attention in a way that makes me worry I'll never get it back.

But if he somehow found it in himself to leave for good, I'm terrified as to what I'll do next. What could possibly be my next move? There's no one else to stay with. Living in a shelter sounds overwhelming and hardly enjoyable. I've yet to make any friends in the city and there's no way for me to get back home. I'm not even sure what constitutes as "home" for me anymore. Somehow I convinced myself that this was it, but over the course of one night, that certainty has slipped from my grasp.

* * *

When I bought the flowers, the woman at the register smiled at me, as though I was about to go make something worthwhile out of my day. As if she had the sincerest faith in me that I couldn't even try to emulate.

She didn't know the task that lay before me, how daunting and probably impossible it would be. I watched as she wrapped the bundle of roses carefully, pink paper lining the sides.

I hoped twelve would be enough, a dozen. Enough to tell her how much I regret being rash, but in the same breath, how I wouldn't take it back even if she demanded I did. I'm sorry, but not enough to wish it hadn't happened. I'm just selfish enough to want to keep this memory locked away in the recesses of my mind. That same tendency is what makes me not regret seeing her touching herself that day, and the same one that makes me determined to keep her with me.

As I walk out of the shop, each step feels like a march to my death. Even placing myself in the driver's seat and starting up my car seems like I'm subjecting myself to punishment. Clare could react any way at all, I can't anticipate it.

I'm still wearing her first kiss on my lips. And her second, and her third. I lost count of how many times our mouths met last night. Though the awareness that it never should have happened is very prevalent in my mind, I like dwelling on how we both worked our way into my room, how I coaxed her mouth open and showed her what a real, deep kiss is. How her body felt like a feather on top of mine. How she whimpered, feeling our bodies pressed together. These were things I'd dreamed about shamefully since she arrived, and they were actually coming to pass. How could I not bask in the thoughts, however impure and nearly toxic they were?

I never claimed to be a saint, at least. I'm not breaking my own code of conduct. But Clare, this is terribly out of character for her. She could be feeling an array of emotions right now, among them guilt. In a way, I'd rather her be angry at _me_, for letting it happen than blame it on herself and have to bear that burden.

I find myself zigzagging a bit in traffic, then attempting to regain my bearings. My eyes shift over to the passenger's seat, the flowers sitting on it. I hope against hope that giving her this superficial, hardly thought out gift will convey my apologies, and somehow enable us to move past this. Or better, dive in further.

* * *

The slamming of the front door jerks me from my panic-filled reverie. My head turns and there he is, looking as guilty as ever as he wanders in. When I look at him now, I can't see his eyes clouded over in desire, or love the way his chapped lips brush against mine. I can't even feel the guilt of knowing we kissed and we shouldn't have. That we were wrapped up in each others arms for hours on end the night before, lying in his bed. None of that matters with the fury coursing through me.

I rise from the futon, tears staining my cheeks and more rolling down to ensure that he'll know how angry I am. How absolutely _betraye_d I feel. "So you thought you could just leave? Did the guilt bring you back? Or are you here to pack up your things?" My thoughts come flooding out in a stringed manner, each enraged word slipping into the next. I can barely articulate when this perturbed, my lips quivering with adrenaline as I approach him.

At first he says nothing, his face dropped into a distinct frown. I don't like his frown. I like his smirk, his grin. The way his expression exudes nothing but confidence when he laughs. But I hope he's feeling bad now. I want to see his lips curl into a grimace as I chew him out. He deserves it.

"You have nothing to say?" The tremble in my voice is unmistakable, and I take a step closer to him. He's holding one arm behind his back. Reaching for it, I pull it out from behind him viciously, a bouquet of roses in his hand.

My brows furrow and my eyes feel like they're burning now because I'm confused. He isn't supposed to have flowers. He's supposed to have a suitcase or a letter telling me I need to leave. He's supposed to be calloused and unfeeling, just like he always has been. But now he has roses and I'm not sure what they're for. I'm not sure where I fit into this.

It's like he's thinking the same thing as he looks between his hand and my face, his lips then pressing into a thin line while he thinks.

"These flowers are either to say I'm sorry for making out with you all night and it'll never happen again if you don't want it to, or I loved last night and I need more of it." The uncertainty etched into his tone leaves me taken aback, because it's not like him to be so unsure. This is the most vulnerable I've ever seen him, and I find myself falling in love with yet another layer of this man. This man I share blood with, but barely recognize more often than not.

Before I know it, I'm closing the distance between us, taking the bouquet from his hand and tossing it on the floor. They're a nice sentiment, but the nicer sentiment were his words, more so the latter part. My lips are on his in a heartbeat and it feels more natural than breathing, more routine than my own pulse drumming beneath my skin. Last night he taught me the technique, the basics. And today, I intend on mastering the skill.

His body hesitates for the briefest of seconds before his hands are gripping my waist so similarly to how they did last night, his feet shuffling forward to press me against the wall opposite the door.

His mouth is hot and tempting, a sensation I'd been craving before last night but downright yearning for since getting a taste of it. His lips move slowly against mine, not overly eager, as if he knows we have all the time in the world. It's torturous. My hand moves to the back of his head to press his mouth closer to mine, and with a tug of his hair I earn a moan from him.

Slowly caution starts getting thrown to the wind as his hips roll against mine. I can't tell if this is merely a reaction to being aroused or if it was intentional, but I lack the reason or the desire to question it. Whimpers leave me without my permission, my anger ebbing away as I feel him smirking against my lips. It's sexy and he's sexy, and I want nothing more than to submit myself entirely to him and his will.

My body is jerked away from the wall and we're both taking clumsy steps into the bedroom, my feet maneuvering backwards carefully as he guides me inside. The same steps we took the night before but less tentative. It's becoming muscle memory, this short journey to the bed.

My back opens the door and once we're inside I hear it slam shut, his leg jerking back to kick it. We're alone in the house as always so this is unnecessary, but I think we both know that it adds to the appeal of this. The suspense. The risque nature of it.

He breaks apart for a second to rid himself of his coat which I only now realize he's still wearing. I hate the distance between us as his lips hover over mine, his arms moving hastily and almost violently, ripping the jacket off his own arms.

Feeling his warm breaths hit my lips brings something up to the surface within me, my hands moving to clutch his shirt. I pull him closer to me as he stumbles forward, our lips meshing in a klutzy but entirely addictive way.

We both regain our composure, my hands moving back to his head, gripping his hair as he tips me back, lowering me to his bed. This is familiar and feels like deja vu, things progressing in a very similar fashion to how they did the night before. But now the kisses are needier and the breaths exchanged between us say more.

His body hovers slightly above mine but I need him closer, pressing my hands to his back to pull him flush against me. My legs separate, allowing him to lie comfortably between them, and that harsh throbbing I've come to associate with him makes a return. He indulges it, his hips thrusting against my core. Even through my clothes I can tell he's getting hard. It still amazes me that I can affect someone as headstrong and stoic as Eli. More so, because I'm the very last person who should be able to get to him in this way.

He draws out mewls and whimpers from me, sounds I never even thought I was capable of making, let alone in the company of my brother. But with the way his body moves against mine, there's no helping the way my back arches into him.

We don't share any words because that would taint this moment, bring us back to a reality where things like this can't happen. Inside the four walls of his bedroom, we can ignore what rules and regulations surround us. In here, there's no telling what could happen.

There's no fight on my part as my shirt and pants are stripped of me, and I watch with hungry, inquisitive eyes as he rids himself of the same articles of clothing. This is uncharted territory for me, with anyone. He can tell and that's why his touches are safe, careful. Still, I can see the urges sitting not far behind his somewhat subdued gaze. The lust is unmistakable and I wish he'd quit this ruse to try and mask it. With the two of us only in our undergarments, I'm thinking we've passed the point of no return.

"I shouldn't like seeing you this way," he mutters against my neck, breaking our unspoken agreement to keep quiet.

I shake my head, my hands tracing over his shoulder blades. "But you do. And I do. And neither of us can help it." Finding reason in this absolutely unreasonable and immoral situation is proving to be difficult, but I won't let him be discouraged. My hands smooth over his back, trying work out whatever stress he's harboring.

His body shivers above mine as his hands slide down my frame, then gripping my hips. I wish I could reach into his mind and grab the doubt, simply casting it aside. As though it was a solid, tangible thing that I could help him be rid of. But as I turn my head to look at him I see the concern written all over his face, and there's no way to pull him out of this reverie. I know him well enough to know that at least.

"Eli, tell me what you're thinking."

* * *

Her question all but sucks the air out of my lungs. I wish I wasn't coming up empty on a reply but I most definitely am. I'm thinking that I love the body heat being exchanged between us, I love how my cock keeps brushing against her through my boxers, how I want to bury myself in her. How ridiculous this urge is becoming with each passing second. I'm caught between ignoring my own conscience and continuing on, or shoving her clean off me and attempting to forget this ever happened – even if I know it's far, far too late for that.

"I've felt this way about you from the moment you walked in the goddamn door, Clare. I didn't stand a chance against it."

She doesn't divert her gaze at all as she waits for me to continue, and I can't help but marvel at the patience this girl possesses. We're polar opposites in that respect; I barely even have enough patience for myself to explain this, but I know she deserves an answer.

"Maybe it was even there before you moved in, I'm not sure. I can't say I remember much about my childhood but my most vivid memories were always with you. I usually chalk that up to us being siblings but..." I trail off, still coaxing the right words out of my head.

"But?" she repeats, urging me to continue on.

"But at times I wonder if our bond was always meant to be stronger than it is on average for siblings. I just- I'm making no sense, don't listen to me." I can feel myself growing more discouraged and just as I anticipated, Clare's not about to let me drop this. I try to roll off her but she locks her legs around my torso, holding me there.

"You're all I have," she says quietly, with a vulnerability that makes me want to shield her from every threat for the rest of my life. "Even back then, when we were all still a family, you were always there for me. Mom did the best she could, I know. But when things got bad,"

I cut her off, curling my arms tighter around her frame. We both know what she's referring to, and even though I was there to defend her through it all back then, I feel like I still need to be here to chase those thoughts away. I know how they plague her sleep, depriving her of a restful night regularly. "I know, Clare. I know."

She shakes her head, her eyes beginning to pool with unshed tears. "You were the only one who ever believed me, even before the evidence was staring everyone in the face. You believed me without question."

Bringing one of my hands to her face, I kiss her forehead, leaving my lips there for a few seconds before I pull away. "Why would you lie about something like that? Of course I believed you, Clarebelle." I feel her trembling slightly beneath my weight as I tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "It's over. He's never going to touch you again. I promise."

The weight of the letter I received is weighing even heavier with this talk, the mere mention of my father, however indirect, intensifying the guilt I feel for hiding it from Clare. If I don't respond soon, I know he won't hesitate to start legal action to get her back. That's how he's always been; efficient to a fault. It's a damn shame we never took legal action ourselves once what he'd been doing to Clare came to light. I remember urging my mom to make a case of it, and even Clare. But my mom was still in shock over what she'd been denying for years, and Clare too traumatized to be making decisions like that. It sickens me to this day, knowing she endured that for years and it only came to an end when I caught him attempting it.

I feel so weak for not being able to protect her. For failing to preserve her comfort and safety while under the same roof. It was torture, staying in her room each night and feeling her shake in my grasp as I stayed there, making sure our father didn't try anything with her. At that point, he knew all too well what I was doing, and didn't dare attempt a thing with her.

But there were days that I wasn't home, or the two of them were _coincidentally_ left alone in the house for whatever reason. Finding out later that something happened and I wasn't there to help her, that guilt will never quit haunting me, or diminish in any respect. Seeing how it's shaped her now makes me ashamed of myself. I failed her as a brother, as a friend. Which is why I know I definitely don't deserve her in this way, as a lover.

That doesn't stop me from wanting her for myself so desperately though.

"H-he's never coming back, right? I can stay here with you and we'll never see him again?" she asks, her hands shaking slightly as they grip my shoulders.

"Never. I'm keeping you safe from now on." I promise, mentally whipping myself into shape as I state it with conviction. Letter or no letter, I'm never letting that bastard see Clare again, let alone live with her. I'd end him with my own two hands before I let that happen. He doesn't even register to me as my father anymore. He hasn't in a very long time.

She closes her eyes and smiles, a small one, but with that sincere gentleness that I know means she believes me. Opening her eyes again, it seems to dawn on both of us that we're still in just our underwear, and I'm still lying on top of her with a very prominent erection pressing against her leg.

Clare chuckles and I follow suit, my eyes never leaving hers as a bright blush adorns her cheeks. "Do we have to stop meeting like this?" She gestures to my mostly bare body laying atop hers, and my smile widens to a grin.

"Technically, this never should have happened but I'm sure you're well aware of that." I lean forward, bumping my nose gently against hers. I keep realizing that even though Clare and I have been making leaps and bounds in terms of physical intimacy, we aren't as familiar with each other in general as most siblings are. It's something I want to change, even though I know that should have happened years ago. Most things with Clare thus far seem like making up for lost time, which is something I have no problem whatsoever doing.

"We're already in too deep. You know that just as well as I do." Brushing the back of my hand against her cheek, I watch her eyes flutter closed for a second, then opening as my hand withdraws. "If we stop, I'll always be fighting the urge to touch you, or kiss you." I say honestly, swallowing the lump in my throat. "But if you think we should stop, we will. I'm never going to force something on you. This got far more complicated than I ever anticipated."

She doesn't even hesitate as she shakes her head, her curls moving a bit against my pillow as she does. "I don't want to stop, _please_." she spits out, her mouth curling into a shy smile as pauses. I smirk to her, lifting a brow as I wait for her to continue on.

"This doesn't make any sense, I know. I've never even had a real boyfriend, at least a serious one," She bites down on her bottom lip, trapping it between her teeth in a way that makes me twitch with desire. "But I want this – you."

Sucking in a shallow breath, I attempt to collect my thoughts."This isn't going to be easy, Clare. We can't have titles for ourselves outside of brother and sister, you know that. We can't act like this in public at all. And then there's the fact that you're still in high school..." The more I think about this, the less feasible it all seems.

Wearing her best pouty face, Clare taps my nose with her finger, jerking my attention back to her. "You get discouraged so easily, mister. We can make this work, so long as we're careful. And no one's better at being sneaky or using their con artists ways than you."

I can't fight back the grin threatening to work its way on to my face, my lips already curling up. This girl knows how to get under my skin too easily, in ways I never thought anyone could. Imogen never succeeded in making me smile this much, not even when she tried her hardest. Clare's the only one capable of evoking such a strong reaction from me in every way possible, and for that reason, I know I at least need to try.

"...fine." I relent, earning a giggle from her. "On one condition." At this, she quiets down, peering up curiously at me as she waits.

"We don't date other people. Just you and me. Deal?"

Clare takes a moment to consider, and then tilts her head. "But there were _so_ many boys I wanted to date! There go my chances of meeting someone dreamy at this new school." she laughs, and I don't feel bad at all when I tickle her sides, only quitting once I have her screaming in a fit of giggles for me to stop.

Once we both pause, I roll off of her, sucking in a deep, content breath.

"I never thought I'd be with a college boy." she mutters thoughtfully to herself, staring up at the ceiling.

"I never thought I'd be with my sister." I deadpan back, earning a half glare, half smile from her.

She turns on her side, then climbing on top of me, straddling my waist. "Can we resume that intense kissing? I feel somewhat ripped off." Clare muses, her body lowering to mine, her full chest pressing flush against me.

I lean in close to her, my lips grazing just below hers before I say, "I owe you. These lips are all yours, along with the rest of me."

I can't say I know what I've gotten myself into, but there's no turning back now. I've always been one to seek out trouble, and I'm finding that Clare is no exception to this rule.


	7. I Knew Right Then That I'd Been Abducted

**Greetings! Before I get into anything having to do with this chapter, I really have to say, I appreciate the reviews. I was wondering if maybe I'd lost the interest I garnered when first working on this, but knowing I haven't is so encouraging. **

**I know SilverHeartt left a review asking me to dedicate this chapter to her, which I'll very willingly do. I'm so glad you were excited to read it! And about writing being an outlet, it definitely is for me. It's one of the few things to keep me sane, but I lose my focus easily. Sometimes oneshots are easier to manage but I truly am dedicated to this story. Thank you so much for your thoughts. **

**Also, a few people keep saying, and I find this endlessly amusing, how they feel wrong for finding this sort of story intriguing or hot because of the incest. I struggle with this so much while writing, but I really can't find it in myself to feel bad. I'm a very open writer and I think loads of people find appeal in taboo topics. It's human nature. **

**In addition, I was planning on only making this story ten chapters long initially, but I've already planned out far past that. I'm thinking somewhere around twenty as of right now. **

**Okay, on to this chapter. It's in Clare's perspective only, and for a very specific reason. Remember I promised some smut? Well...I made good on that, ha. **

**Enjoy. Reviews make me smile. **

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After what feels like hours of paperwork, I finally walk through the double doors of my new school, my hands reaching to zip up my jacket as the wind whips through me. I should have better prepared myself for this, at least mentally.

"_Your parents? They're supposed to register you."_

"_Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Miss Edwards. Who are you living with right now? Do you have a guardian?"_

"_...Your brother? That's...well, I suppose that'll do. He needs to fill out these forms about your medical history and such, vaccinations, so on and so forth." _

I couldn't stand the look of pity she gave me at the mention of my mother. I was only stating that she'd passed because if I hadn't, nothing else would have made sense. My reason for transferring from Toronto, why I'm currently living with Eli... The information seemed necessary, but I didn't willingly fork it over. I never do.

At her mention of my father, I merely scowled and she seemed to accept that, quickly dropping the subject and instead going off on a tangent about returning the paperwork to her as soon as possible. At least she had tact in that respect.

I realize that no one can read my mind and know right off the bat what I'm facing. If only. But there's still a very large part of me that's too sensitive to talk about my mom, even to Eli. At times, he'll ask about how we were between the time that he left and the time that she passed, but I don't have it in me to reply.

I already feel her memory slipping from me.

I don't remember what her eyes look like, even though everyone always told me they were a mirror image of my own. I don't recall the sound of her voice, how it sounded when she'd call for me from downstairs for dinner. I have a few voicemails left but even those sound off. Knowing there's no longer a voice like that in the world, that the gentle echoing doesn't belong to a living soul on Earth, it doesn't sit well with me.

I feel the recollection of just about every comfort I've ever known leaving me. Freshly washed laundry, the scent of the detergent wafting through the air, gone. The way her hand felt holding my much tinier one as she walked me to elementary school, gone. The click of her heels rapping against the kitchen floor when she got home from work, gone. Gone, gone, and there's nothing left to grasp onto.

Sometimes I feel like if I talk about her, I'll be losing those last few pieces of her that I do have. I'm not willing to part with them. Not for anyone, not even Eli.

I pull myself out of my deep reverie, a chill traveling through my body as I stand still. It's hard to imagine myself attending a new school, but by next Monday, I will be. I'll admit; it's a bit more than incredibly intimidating. I've never been a people person, always choosing to stick to myself and a few close friends.

Everyone here already has their cliques, the people they like to be around. Where will I fit into that equation? I can already feel wallflower status being crowned upon me, but I suppose it's better than it could be. I'd prefer it over verbal punching bag for the student body.

The walk home is quick, much to my relief. I've lost my way several times while in the city thus far, and every time but one, I've managed to find my way back. The one time it didn't work out so well was a week back. Luckily, Eli had just finished up with his last class and found me amongst the towering city buildings, each one looking the same as I lost my way.

The whole ride back, he teased me for having no sense of direction. But I ended up getting him back by kissing his neck as he drove. At least until he barked at me to stop because he was swerving in the road.

It's still surreal to me – the duality of our relationship. On the one hand, he truly is my brother. In blood, in bond, everything. But the way he looks at me, there's a hunger behind his gaze at times, and others, a tenderness that I know is only shared between lovers.

I have trouble drawing the line between what's appropriate and what isn't at certain times, but so far, he doesn't seem to mind. We greet each other at the door with kisses and long embraces, lovesick and pining for one another. I hang off of him like a tumor and I don't hear a peep in opposition from him about it. We cook dinner together and he tickles me while I wash the dishes, claiming his mere company while doing so is helpful enough.

Eli isn't an ideal roommate, but I wouldn't trade him in for anything.

I've never pictured myself in a relationship, always figuring I'd botch up my chances of cultivating one before it ever came to fruition. But this...it's unlike anything else. The compatibility. Perhaps it comes with our shared blood and the years we've spent together, but I'd imagine most couples don't feel this level of connection. The depth of it all.

He makes me feel like I'm Ally and he's Noah. Like I'm getting that legendary love I've always pined after. But he beats any idealistic man Mr. Sparks could conjure up. His wit, his compassion, his intellect, it bests every other man I've known – ones made of fact and fiction alike.

Being with him in this intimate, close way makes me wonder what he ever shared with Imogen. From the moment I met the girl, her cat-like, sly movements rubbed me the wrong way. Those pigtails didn't persuade me of her implied innocence. They almost seemed to contradict the vibe she gave off; one that was equal parts quirky and calculating.

Her perfume always overpowered the apartment while she was there, and goodness, I never thought someone could moan so loudly. At times, I wondered it if was merely a show to make me uncomfortable, (which it certainly did) or if she was truly so overcome with pleasure at my brother's hand.

For all her theatrics, Eli did seem fond of her, for a time. He still hasn't told me about what spurred their demise, the things that led up to their separation. Each time I try to ask, he waves his hand dismissively, muttering something along the lines of, "Nothing you need to know, Clarebelle, drop it." So I do. But my curiosity hasn't waned one bit on the matter.

Eli's always quick to keep me in the dark on things, and I can be honest in saying that irks me. He's always been a secretive man, the inner workings of his mind impossible to imagine since he never bothers to shed any light on it. I know better than to question him, but I also know that if we keep things up as we have been, I'll have earned the right to get a few answers in due time.

It's one of those things that I keep referring to as a bridge internally, one that I'll cross whenever I reach it. That is, if Eli will be willing to indulge my curiosity.

All my inner musing has led me to my door before I realized it, the fact only dawning on me as I fish in my purse out of muscle memory for my keys.

Before I can even put it into the keyhole, the door opens by some unknown force, which I soon realize is Eli. He wears a wide smile, much like the ones he has been the past week or so upon arriving home to each other.

"I was beginning to think you lost your way again." he says softly, a teasing tone in his words. I shake my head, poking his nose with my pointer finger.

"I can occasionally fend for myself you know. This city isn't as scary as I previously thought." Placing my bag down on the crappy futon that I don't miss sleeping on one bit, I sigh out loudly. This finally feels like home, if only for the fact that _Eli _now feels like home. His arms, his cologne, his dry and always quick humor, they're all things I pine for while I'm away.

I feel him come up behind me, coiling his arms around my abdomen. I hum out in approval as he starts bestowing kisses on my neck, biting down slightly on my pulse point.

"Did you get yourself registered?"

"Indeed I did." My hands find his, threading our fingers together as we begin swaying slowly.

He goes back to kissing my skin, his breath tickling me as he speaks."Were they nice there?"

"About as nice as secretaries at a high school would be. A little on the nosy side when I was telling them my home situation, but I tried to grin and bear it."

He falls silent for a moment, and I can tell he's on the same train of thought I was right after I left the school. Even if Eli doesn't say it, I know he's still gaining his bearings on this situation too.

Though silently, he's grieving our mother's death. He's never been the type to express his pain, but I can hear it when he mumbles in his sleep. I'll never get used to the way he twitches in his slumber, his lips turning every which way as he mutters to himself senselessly. He looks like a man unhinged, lost in the tangled web of his own blackened mind. Sleep is the best time for his fears to attack, his subconscious as vulnerable as a child.

The word "Mom" is permanently rooted into his vocabulary while he dreams.

Her absence is the thing that divides Eli and I the most. We both seek out the comforts she once offered us in each other, but when we come up mostly empty in seeking it out, the void is mutually felt.

Deciding I can't handle the heavy thoughts any longer, I squeeze his hands in my own, nuzzling my cheek against his slightly stubbly one. "I hope you like paperwork! As my legal guardian, you're required to fill them out."

He groans into my neck, my hands then unraveling his arms from me as I reach into my bag to retrieve them.

"No- no," he mumbles, stopping me from digging through my bag for the manilla folder the woman gave me. "Not tonight, please? Tomorrow morning, I swear. I'll get it all filled out for you. But tonight, I have a surprise for you."

This piques my curiosity effortlessly, my body then turning to face his. "Oh?"

Lifting his brows to me, I watch his bow shaped lips curve up into a smirk, one that only fuels my curiosity further. "A date."

My eyes roll dramatically, knowing what his definition of a date is. "Eli, if you wanted to watch Netflix and make out for a few hours, you could have just told me." I laugh, but the look on his face stops me.

"A real date, Clare." he clarifies, his lips morphing into a genuine smile. "We're going to have to drive a bit out of town for it, just to be safe, but I mean a _real _date."

"You mean dinner, dessert, the works?"

He nods. "Like an actual couple, yes." My heart begins jumping for joy in the confines of my chest.

I stand in stunned silence, a dorky smiling adorning my face as I look at him. This wasn't what I expected in the least, perhaps the very last thing I expected from my brother, but I can't say I'm displeased.

"What are you still standing here for? Go get dressed!" he states enthusiastically, kissing my cheek and then patting my butt, ushering me into our room.

"Get dressed? In what?"

Now rolling his own eyes, he grabs my shoulders, walking me into the room. "A dress, perhaps? We're not going to a cheapo restaurant, mon amour." His French never fails to send chills up my spine, especially the more loving phrases like that one.

My smile only widens as we enter the bedroom, his hands leaving me to close the door behind us. I walk over to our shared closet, peering at my side. "Which dress should I wear, Eli?" I grab two, holding them against me. One is black, about knee length with a simple red bow belt to cinch it in. The other is blue, with tiny white flowers scattered all over it. It comes up a bit shorter, but admittedly happens to be my favorite of the two.

He scrutinizes both for a moment, his eyes finally landing on the blue and white one. "While my first reaction is to pick something black, I want to see how this one fits on you." He reaches for the blue and white dress, taking it in his hands as I return the other to the closet.

But as I turn back to get the dress, I notice the look in his eyes and realize I won't be dressing myself at all. The green in his eyes bore down into my blue, the stare so intense that it sends a spark through my entire body. He makes me lust after him so effortlessly, one simple look hooking me in. I feel him toying with the hem of my shirt before lifting it off my torso gently, then throwing it down on the bedroom floor.

"Eli...? Do we even have time for this?" I ask carefully as he begins kissing my neck again, wondering if he'd made reservations for the night or not.

"We have a half hour, baby," he whispers huskily, the word _'baby'_ making me clench my thighs together in frustration. Sometimes it's still hard to believe that I get this side of Eli all to myself now, that his body and everything he can do to mine is an open book for me, waiting to be explored.

We haven't gone much past the limits of fondling and clothed dry humping for lack of a better term, but I'm eager to push past that. He's been very careful with me, both because I'm new to this whole world of intimacy, and because I'm his sister. He can deny the latter fact as much as he wants. I know there's still a very strong sense of guilt he fends off every time he touches me.

Sometimes, I wish we weren't related, so he could embrace me without that venomous doubt coursing through his thoughts, invading his conscience. But then I realize that our shared blood is at least half of the appeal, if not more.

Tonight though – _tonight _– he seems to have forgotten his usual reluctance, his hands wandering wherever they please without the slightest bit of hesitance. He receives no fight on my part as his hands work over my bare back, down to my ass. He gropes me firmly, pulling my pelvis up towards his.

His hands are so manly, there's just _so much _of them as he fondles me, touching me in just the right places. Eli knows every secret to a woman's body, I've realized. He knows the things that make them mad with need and frenzied with passion. I feel slightly jealous when I ponder how he acquired such impressive knowledge, but cast aside the thoughts as quickly as I can.

That's his past. I'm his present.

Before I know it, his hands are down my pants, gripping my behind before coming back around the front, his fingers skillfully and seamlessly undoing the button on my jeans, then unzipping it. I kick off my shoes and pull off my socks before taking off my pants, the speed of my motions picking up with each passing second.

I look to him, standing in just my undergarments, and I notice he's undressing as well. It isn't long before we're in the same articles we've been sticking to since this started. I'm not sure what holds Eli back from stripping me of all clothing. I'm definitely not about to stop him, but he seems cautious in seeing me bare.

Again, his conscience takes a massive beating each time we get close. I can see it and feel it in every one of his reactions to me.

To test this, my hands go to my back, fumbling slightly with my own clasp before he reaches to my arms, pulling them away. "No, not right now." he coos, pressing his lips to the side of my head gently.

"But...why not?" I whine, realizing I'm almost feeling rejected in a sense. If I was Imogen, I'd already be naked and he'd be nailing me into the bed.

The complete lack of censorship in my thoughts leaves me taken aback, my own eagerness to progress things with him entirely foreign. I'm a rookie even with kissing, never mind much else. But Eli just brings out this hunger in me, this insatiable need to feel more, do more, _become _more.

"Isn't the point to get you dressed?" he chuckles, trying to excuse his own reluctance by covering it up with a true, but unimportant, fact.

"But," I stutter out again, my hands wrapping around his neck as I press myself closer to him. He leans down, catching my words in a heated kiss before I can spit out my thought.

His hands smooth up and down my back, one reaching along to the waistband of my panties. "What, you want more?" I hate his teasing tone and I hate giving in even more, but something tells me the only way to get what I want from him is to feed his ego.

I nod silently.

"Tell me where." Eli whispers, and I feel my eyes widening at his demand.

"Y-you know where." I try to reason, my face turning a merciless shade of red. I avert my gaze, letting it land anywhere at all. Anywhere but on his knowing eyes.

Tucking his hand under my chin, he lifts my head up to meet him, so I can't avoid his gaze anymore. "I'll touch you anywhere you want, Clare. Just tell me where."

I hate him. I hate him and his taunting tone, his tempting lips and his talented fingertips.

I hate his smoldering stare and his grip over my rational mind.

Most of all, I hate how I find myself reaching for his hand, cautiously placing it between my legs.

"T-there." I breathe out, leaning my head against his as I shudder, his fingertips beginning to brush against my center.

With a chuckle, he peers down at me, his lips crooked with mischief on his mind. "Oh, _here_." he marvels, pressing the pad of his thumb against my clit. Even through my underwear, I'm hyper sensitive to his touches, my cheeks inflamed and my heart thumping erratically. I can tell I'm already wet, his tormenting more than enough to arouse me.

My curls fan around my face, my jaw falling agape as he continues his ministrations, rubbing me outside of the material. "Remember that time I walked in on you touching yourself?" he inquires with a sinister grin, his palm pressing against me now.

"I- I recall something of that nature h-happening." I manage, my eyes fluttering closed.

I thrust into his hand but he doesn't relent, my breasts beginning to strain against my bra as my breathing picks up.

"Do you know how fucking hot that was? How badly I wanted to be the one getting you off?" There's more force behind his movements now, and a small whine leaves me.

"Eli, please. Just, _please._" My words aren't coming out correctly at all but he knows what I'm saying, reaching into my underwear without question.

Once his fingers meet with my wet flesh, I cry out, reaching shakily for his arms; anything stable to keep me grounded while he unravels me.

"I never thought I'd see that in my entire life." he mutters, his middle finger probing at my entrance teasingly. My hips buck up a bit, attempting in vain to force his finger inside, but he won't let me. This is his game, and I can tell he's going to play it however he pleases.

Slowly he slides it in, my hips jerking towards him as I push more of his finger inside, and he smirks at me. "Eager, are we?" His thumb settles on my clit as he pulls his digit in and out, rubbing on the hardened bud to stimulate me.

"The moment I got in my room, I couldn't help but jerk myself off, Clare. I kept picturing you and your fingers your tight little snatch, your little whimpers and your fucking hips lifting off the mattress." His hot breath hitting my ear turns me on more than I ever thought imaginable. I had no idea him catching me like that got to him, so much that he had to touch himself immediately after.

He leans in closer to me, catching my earlobe between his teeth and bearing down. "I wanted your legs spread like that for _me_. I wanted to finger you until I had you _begging_ me to make you cum." The look in his eyes is rapturous, the green in his eyes darkening as he glances down between us, watching my breasts bounce with his movements.

My chest heaves, his finger curling at just the right angle to make me gasp, my center throbbing in need. I have myself convinced by now that his fingers are pure magic. His carnal, raw desire mirrors that of my own. I never knew what pleasure truly was before this man, and I never want to know another beside the brand he can so skillfully deliver.

My knees are unstable and wobbly, my hands gripping onto Eli for dear life as he picks up the pace, his finger pumping in and out of me effortlessly. I feel him walking us backward until we hit one of the bedroom walls, my body nearly sinking down it as he fingers me. With his free hand he moves to my clit, his thumb brushing over it repeatedly as the other continues to work at me.

"Eli," I pant out, my eyes widening at him desperately. "I need, I-"

Along with his middle finger, he slides his index in, pumping them both inside me with blinding speed. Desperate moans and whimpers leave me as I rock against his hand, feeling my climax coming up, almost within reach.

"Let it go for me, baby. Let it all out." Eli rasps, his voice is thick and rich, drenched in lust. Each slip of his digits coaxes out my orgasm, my body tensing from head to toe as it finally hits. I convulse against the wall, my voice echoing and bouncing off the walls as I call out his name. He doesn't stop his movements for even a second, pushing me farther and farther into the sensation, helping me to ride it out.

After it retreats, he slowly withdraws his hand from my panties and I clutch onto him, my head falling to the crook of his shoulder. We stay quiet for a moment as he presses gentle kisses to my head, my body trembling in his arms. I've never had a reaction quite so strong, aftershocks of the pleasure still crawling under my skin, working their way into my bones.

Once I find it in myself to catch his eye, I can't help but note the distinct satisfaction living within his gaze. But this time, it's not one of smug pride. It's as though he sincerely wanted to be responsible for my undoing, for such an incredible rush. He surely was. I'm quickly realizing that in no time, I'll end up begging for such treatment on a regular basis.

I finally calm down and let out a small laugh, a little bashful after such an intense experience. Eli glances over at the clock in our room, fifteen minutes having passed since we last checked it. "Shit." he mumbles, smiling and shaking his head. "We're going to be late for our reservation if we don't get our asses moving. Think you can handle yourself after that?"

I push my curls from my forehead, noticing how clammy my skin is. "I need a quick shower, my goodness." Snatching my dress up from the bed where Eli placed it before, I huff out a breath. "I'll be right out, okay?"

Turning my back, I skip out towards the door but feel a tug on my hand, Eli pulling me back towards him. Wordlessly, he presses his mouth to mine, holding me there for a moment. As he pulls away, he nods once, then releasing his grip on my hand. I find the intensity of his warmth, the sincere kindness looking back at me holds me captive for a few seconds longer, until I find it in me to turn away. Hurrying off to shower before our first official date, I can't fight off the grin working its way onto my lips. My heart trembles and flies around like a small creature in my chest, keeping a tempo that I bet matches that of his own.


	8. On Directing

**Holy hell, sorry for the delay on this update. I got stuck on it for a bit. Coupled with the fact that I started Illuminate...yeah, ha. I got distracted. **

**So from this point on, the plot is going to pick up steadily. As in, shit will hit the fan. I feel like a 500 Days Of Summer-esque disclaimer should be put on this story, but I'll stay mum on that for now. Just know that after this chapter, the plot, the smut (I stress the _smut_), the bond between Eli and Clare - it's all going to get more intense. **

**Thank you all so much for the reviews! I can't even believe there's 71 comments on this thing, seriously. I'm flattered beyond belief. **

**I'd say more but I'm eager to get this posted since I've made everyone wait long enough. **

**Read, enjoy, review if you feel so inclined. Reviews make me a happy writer. **

* * *

It took once subtle shift of her hips.

One tiny wiggle, her frame swaying before me as she showed off her dress. I could stare at the way it hugged her curves forever, how it cinched in just below her breasts and then billowed out towards her stomach, flaring as her round hips filled it out. The sky blue shade only brought out the natural hue of her eyes, orbs that I found myself doting over shamelessly as of late.

Aside from the way her body looks, it's her face. It's the light shade of pink that adorns the apples of her cheeks. It's the way her nose crinkles up slightly as she smiles, her lips then curving into a smirk as she sees how I'm soaking her in. I swear she's stealing that trademark twist of the mouth right from me.

What a monster I've created.

I've become a man absolutely bewildered and beside himself because of this elusive, entrancing creature.

"You like, Mr. Goldsworthy?" she teases, calling me by my preferred last name much to my relief. Hearing Edwards makes my skin crawl. My mother's maiden name is more forgiving, less like a punishment to bear.

Elijah Edwards never sounded good to me anyway.

"Is there a more potent synonym for 'like' out there? Adore? Fancy? Covet? _Love_?" I let the last word fall from my lips slowly as I approach her, my hands aching to settle on her waist.

I see her brows lifting a bit, intrigued at how I drew out the word. It intrigues me too. Of course I love Clare. I love her like anyone would love their sibling. But there's something more, something _unrelenting_ in my gut that tells me. This is a different brand of love.

For a moment, I think she's about to clarify what I'm already pondering but in a blink, she zips her lips back up, instead offering me a smile. "I think I cleaned up pretty well after that." Her bashful smile gives her away and I smirk smugly, not willing to spare her the look of pride I know is etched into my face at my feat.

I'd give anything to unravel Clare like that every night, to know her small noises and exclamations belong to me. Now more than ever, I'm grateful for the fact that she's remained untainted, untouched in her most intimate of areas.

Well...except – and then I realize I'd rather not think about _that_.

For all my caution because of the fact, she seems receptive to my advances and I know it's a healthy sign. Some people can't bear to unveil that side of themselves after being taken advantage of, to any degree. But she shows an enthusiasm for furthering that part of our relationship. While I'm still dead set on being careful, moving at something close to a snail's pace, it's a good sign.

She peers up at me, those sapphire orbs boring into my own. Even when I can feel her scrutinizing me or my expression, I never feel uncomfortable. Clare would be the very last person to judge me harshly, I know it for a fact. "You look pretty nice yourself." Her tiny fingers clutch at my jacket, then venturing to my tie.

"I figured if you were going to blow me away with an outfit, I should do the same. Did I disappoint?" I can feel her tugging on my tie, pulling me towards her in a way that threatens to break my cool facade. This girl can make me heated in a split second if she wants to.

"As if you could." she quips back at me, dragging me down to her lips by my tie. "You look quite dapper, Mister." We kiss briefly despite my attempts to draw it out, and then she pulls back a bit.

"Do you think the sweater goes well enough with the dress?" she asks, tugging on the buttons of her white cotton sweater as she looks down at herself.

I can see her staring down at her feet as she waits for a reply, her shy, always kind demeanor leaving me in awe of her. I've never known a more gentle creature than my sister.

"Hey," I reach for her chin, cupping it in my hand as I lift her head. It's a similar gesture to the one I used in our bedroom, but not a speck of lust is intended.

She returns my stare, the tint on her cheeks brightening a few shades, a warm glow emitting from her. "Every woman on Earth wishes she looked like you in this dress, with that sweater. You're the most gorgeous girl I've ever known, sweetheart." With that, I kiss her forehead gently, then letting her go and reaching for her hand. If we don't leave soon, I know for a fact we'll be late, and that just won't do for our first official date.

* * *

Once we're seated at a cozy table for two, I can't help but eye the area. We're out of town. Far out of town. Forty four minutes to be exact, plus all the evening rush hour traffic I had to wade through to get here even remotely on time. As far as I can tell, there's no one we know here. Each stranger and each unfamiliar face I spot sets me more at ease.

I'd rather not have my attention torn away from my beautiful date sitting across from me anyway.

Clare's skimming over the menu, her eyes narrowing at some spots and then widening again, shifting left to right, left to right as she looks at the options. I realize I should be doing the same but the girl steals my focus without even trying. She'd never have to work to get a guy to notice her, no blatant flirtation necessary to win them over.

To think she's all mine...I'm constantly left in sincere awe of the fact.

"Eli, I realize you have a job and clearly you're capable of paying for our meal, but really? Some of these are really expensive."

I chuckle to myself, finally tearing my gaze from her and scanning the same options she's referring to. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't going a bit overboard with this date, but I have every intention of making it a night she'll never forget. To my knowledge, Clare has never been on an official date, and making her very first special is my only goal. The price tag means very little, it's something I'll face later.

"Can you stop over-thinking and worrying for one night, Clarebelle?" I ask with a grin, shaking my head chidingly. "If I couldn't afford it, we wouldn't be here. One can only eat so much take-out and microwaved food, seriously." Deciding I'm going to go for the ziti, I place my menu down, peering over at her again. "I can't say this will be a frequent thing. I'm still in that struggling-to-make-ends-meet-college-student phase, but I want this to be a nice night for us. Don't spare another thought on it."

With that, I seem to have successfully shut her up, and as if on cue, a waiter comes over to serve us. "I'm Maggie, I'll be your waiter tonight." a chipper woman with her hair tied back in a tight bun greets us. I'm glad for the enthusiasm. Clare's visibly on edge but she seems to lighten up a bit with her arrival. "Can I start you both off with drinks?"

I look to Clare, lifting my brows for her to speak.

"Um, do you have water?"

"Clare-" I interject, narrowing my eyes at her. "Come on, water? Get an actual drink, you can have water at home."

After thinking for a moment longer, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, releasing it once she's made her decision. "I guess um, do you have iced tea?"

Maggie nods, scribbling it down on her notepad before shifting her eyes to me.

"Just a glass of white wine, please?" I ask, and I see Clare glaring at me a bit. Choosing to ignore her critique of my beverage choice, I watch as Maggie writes that down as well, then taking the menus and wandering off, promising to take our orders when she returns.

I look back to my sister reluctantly, her furrowed brows already making me feel guilty despite the fact that she hasn't spoken a word. "Why must you drink? Just because you can?"

"That's a part of it," I agree with a blasé shrug, sitting up a bit straighter in my chair. "It's not wrong to have a glass of wine with dinner, Clare. And it's perfectly legal for me to. I have my ID on me if you think someone will doubt me."

She shakes her head, and I'm still having trouble figuring out why this bothers her so, until she pipes up again.

"You never drank when you lived at home. I never once saw you with alcohol."

"Well, that's because I didn't drink at home. Mom would have murdered me." I laugh in good humor, my grin falling a bit as she fixes her frown into a scowl. "I've changed since then, alright? So have you. Does this really need to be a problem?" I find myself growing slightly annoyed. I much prefer to forget that Clare and I are even related. When that fact comes to light, we bicker and bitch like the brother and sister we legally are.

She shifts a bit in her seat, adjusting the skirt of her dress. "I'm just trying to get to know you again is all." she mouses, her eyes fixed on the fancy empty glass perched right before her.

Leaning forward, I reach for her hand, gently grasping it in my own. I can see her gasp, looking around at those in nearby tables, but I don't bother doing the same. I already know we're fine here. No one we know will be around to witness or ruin this date.

"That's what this date is all about, sweetheart. Getting to know each other better. All those years don't make it so we know much about one another. I want to learn everything there is to know about you." My thumb smooths over her hand, my eyes searching hers entreatingly. "So please have some faith in me? There is a method to my madness, I promise."

Her mouth falls open to speak but before she can, Maggie returns, smiling bashfully as she interrupts our moment. "I'm sorry, lovebirds." she smiles, clearly expressing how endearing she finds us as I release Clare's hand, making room for the drinks on the table. I look over to her as the iced tea is set before her, and her cheeks are stained a deep crimson shade.

I love being responsible for that reaction.

"Okay," Maggie breathes emphatically, ever the picture of contentment as she serves us. "And for dinner? Do you both know what you'd like to order?"

Clare still looks uncertain so I opt to go first, letting her know I want to try the ziti. After she scrawls it down, she looks back to Clare, who happens to be sipping nervously on her drink. "Oh, um," she mumbles, placing her drink back down. "Can I just get what he's having?"

I smirk at her nervousness, however unnecessary, and then nod to Maggie as she heads off towards the kitchen. "I see you're still apprehensive when speaking to new people." I note, taking my first sip of my wine.

Her eyes follow mine as I take an especially long sip, then nodding her head. "I've never been very good with talking to people, introducing myself, all that. If I can avoid speaking at all, I do."

I've always known Clare for her usually timid demeanor, but I'm glad that around me, such a guard doesn't exist. Again, the lines of relation and our mutual attraction blur in this scenario, making me wonder which is more responsible for it, but I try not to dwell on the fact too long. Either way, I get to see a side of her that most people don't even realize exists.

"And I see you're still extremely charming and personable, despite your brooding attitude." she quips, shaking her head at me. "I'm not sure how you manage that balancing act, but you pull it off."

"Mom always said it was my inner writer." I laugh, leaning forward and settling my stare on Clare. "She knew me better than anyone, really." My thoughts start getting a little lost in my mind, but soon I see her face falling at the mention of our mom. Internally, I make a mental note to not mention her again.

"...Can I try some of that?" she suddenly squeaks out, pointing to my wine.

"Miss Prohibition wants some wine? Color me shocked, jesus christ," I tease, widening my eyes in mock horror at her.

"Will you hush, my goodness. I just...want to try it." Yet again she peers around, forever bashful and overly concerned with what others might think. But if she wasn't like that, she wouldn't be my Clare. I wouldn't want her any other way.

"One sip. Two, tops. I'm not bringing you home tipsy, lightweight." I concede, handing her the glass carefully. Once it's in her hands, she gives it a small sniff, and I can't help but laugh at her.

"Just try it."

Nodding, she wraps her lips around the top of the glass, my chest tightening at the sight of her mouth alone. She gets to me in ridiculous ways, I know. I'm hardly put together when I think on her for too long. No other woman has been able to affect me in such a way, rendering me speechless while doing something as mundane as drinking.

Taking two sips, I watch her lips crinkle up a bit, her nose wiggling. "It's...different." Handing it to me, I place it back down. "I don't see myself becoming a casual drinker."

"And that's a good thing. No need to touch alcohol, really."

"Really exemplifying your hypocrisy there, Elijah. Good job."

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily, but soon my mouth picks back up into that smile she so easily brings about. While we wait for our meals, we somehow trail off into conversation about favorites. It only dawns on me now that even the most elementary facets of Clare, the little bits and pieces that make her up are lost on me. For instance, her favorite book is Jane Eyre, when somehow I was about to guess something along the lines of John Green. She likes cold pizza, which is why I always see her going for it after it's been left in the fridge for a while. Her shoe size is seven and a half, except in flats, which somehow always land her in an eight.

She tells me about how her favorite memory from when we were little was when we went to a park a few towns over. I even remember it myself, as it was perhaps the most elaborate park I'd ever been to. Everything was made of wood, high towers you could climb through spread across the expanse of it. Some of the most intense slides I'd ever been on were there. While I don't remember going there too frequently, the memory she conjures up is one I recall.

"I shot out of the twisty turny long slide, the one you kept telling me not to go in, because I was too little." she laughs, covering her face as she recounts the rest of it. "I went flying in midair! My goodness, and when I landed – well – that was a pretty little bruise on my tush, my word." I smile silently, reveling in her genuine laughter, how these latent memories manage to crawl back up inside the both of us when we're together.

"You were bawling so hard. Such a baby," I mutter, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

"Do you remember what you did though?"

I nod my head, wiggling around the wine in my glass. "It was the first time I ever gave you a piggyback ride." I reply, remembering all too well how I overestimated my own strength.

"Well," she pauses, wiggling her finger at me, "you nearly dropped me, if I'm being honest, but I know you were really trying." Clare smiles sweetly, making my chest melt.

"I think I remember turning into your personal piggyback ride slave after that, if memory serves."

"You act like you hated it." Clare looks down at her coupled hands on the table, then glancing through her lashes at me.

I smirk back, unable to feign distaste for the memory. "I loved every moment of it."

Once our meals arrive, I dig in, shamelessly ravenous after waiting nearly a half hour for it. My plate is only a quarter full by the time she works through half of hers, fiddling with her fork as she stabs at a piece of pasta.

"Too much for you?" I ask with my mouth full, chuckling as I realize I've obviously left my manners elsewhere for the night.

She scoffs, judging me for my full mouth. "You're gross, you know that?"

I swallow my food and wipe my mouth on my napkin, my stomach finally contracting in a way that lets me know I ate too much. I'll be driving the forty four minutes back bloated, that's for sure.

Leaning back in my chair, I nod. "At least one of us can do things with poise. It's never been me, so it must be you." My arms stretch as I yawn, closing my eyes for a second and then opening them again.

"Would it just be okay if I take the rest of this home? I don't think I can finish." she laughs lightly, patting her own stomach. "I shouldn't have been so ambitious."

"More like you shouldn't have copied my idea, but I digress." I stand to my feet, looking around for a bathroom. "I don't see why they can't wrap it for you. If you see our waitress coming back around, ask her. I'm going to use the bathroom, then we can pay and head out." Stepping closer to her, I pause, trying to take a mental snapshot of this perfect moment. This little piece of an ideal world I'm trying to desperately to replicate for Clare and I. In this moment, she's my date. My _girlfriend_, in fact. In this moment, no one can do anything to mar the night.

She peers up at me, offering a gentle smile. Leaning down to her, I kiss her cheek, then bending closer to her ear.

"I have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world." I say softly in her ear, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear before I retire to the bathroom. She's blushing up a storm, I can tell, but I won't call her out on it by looking back. By the time I enter the bathroom, I can even feel my own cheeks heating up, thoroughly elated by just being here with her.

Even though the night is almost over, I don't intend on letting up on the festivities just yet. I can tell she's getting a little tired, mostly because she ate beyond her stomach's capacity, but if I know one thing about my sister, it's that she always has room for ice cream.

After doing my business and washing my hands, I slam down on the hand dryer button hastily, realizing it's the slowest goddamn piece of machinery known to man. Instead, I wipe my hands on my pants, realizing they'll dry faster than my hands would if I stuck to this mechanical method.

Stepping back out into the dining area, I adjust my tie before scanning the area, attempting to recall where Clare's seated. I figure by now, she might have flagged down Maggie, our waitress, and managed to get her mitts on a box for the rest of her food.

But as I approach the table, the sight before me isn't one I expect.

A curly haired man is in _my_ seat, across from Clare, a smile lighting up both of their faces. He's leaning forward, quite obviously not holding back on the body language that all but screams 'I'd fuck you'.

Clare has always told me my temper has a mind of its own, and that it would get me in trouble one day. I can't help but agree most of the time, so in this case, I attempt to give it the benefit of the doubt.

That is, until I see him reaching forward and patting her hand. My self-control has a limit that this man is breaching effortlessly.

Hastily approaching the pair, I'm set on punching this guy's lights out until I get a better look at him. The beehive head of curls, the doe-like brown eyes.

I know this guy.

And so does Clare.

"Eli!" she breathes, noticing the tense expression I wear. My fists are still balled at my sides as I drink in this situation, but panic starts hitting me in waves. "You remember Liam, right? From when we were little? He was in my grade three class?"

Oh, I remember Liam. The little shit that followed Clare around like a lost puppy, sent her ten Valentines all with shitty drawings of her on them, and invited himself over to her birthday party a year later before he moved away. I'd never been more glad to hear someone left the school district.

"Hey man! It's been a long while, man." he says, extending his hand for me to shake it. I force my lips to curl up into a grin,

"So it has." Reaching to return his handshake, I grip his hand more firmly than truly necessary, my grin only growing up as I feel his joints crack in my palm.

He retracts it quickly, shaking it out and then looking back to Clare. "Anyway, I thought it was you guys, but I couldn't be sure. It's been years, seriously."

Clare nods, smiling graciously at him. "I'm sorry I didn't notice you sooner! We just...kind of got seated and that was that. Had I known you were a waiter here, I would have requested to see you."

My eyes grow wide at this, glaring daggers at her. Why on Earth would she request to see someone from our past when we're on a date? How does she not understand the severity of this? The risk involved?

I can't help but worry that Liam saw something he shouldn't have transpire between us, though I have been refraining from kissing her. Still, it's too close of a call from a douchebag I never liked anyway.

"Well, either way, we noticed each other." Liam replies, his gaze lingering on Clare a little too long, in my opinion. Clearing my throat, I shift my weight onto my other foot until Liam finally realizes he should get his ass out of my seat. Even then, I don't sit, instead sizing him up as he stands before me.

He strongly resembles a troll, with his wild hair and bulky shoulders. He's no one Clare would pursue, I tell myself.

"It's time to leave, Clare." I grit out, not letting my eyes leave Liam, only glancing over at her briefly.

He sways a bit, clearly uncomfortable as I scrutinize him. Good. I want him to shit his pants in fear of me.

"Eli, I haven't even gotten my food wrapped up yet-"

"_We're leaving_." I punctuate, grabbing her hand and briskly heading towards the front desk.

She hesitates in my grasp for a moment before following along, realizing I won't be letting go of her any time soon. "It w-was nice to see you, Liam!" she sputters out, waving back at him politely.

Either he doesn't reply or I don't catch it as I go up to the front counter, digging in my pockets for my wallet. She stays silent by my side while I pay, reluctantly holding onto my hand, though her grip is loose.

"So how was Liam, eh? Was it really worth risking our cover to talk to him?" I let go of her hand and stuff my own in my pocket, pacing angrily once we're outside of the restaurant.

Clare looks around the area uneasily, fiddling with the cross around her neck nervously. "Eli, he noticed me. I barely even r-recognized him at first. We were just having friendly conversation." she explains, but I don't care.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you? Like you were a fucking conquest? Like he could actually have you if he tried hard enough?" My indignation over the situation doubles and triples, my knuckles turning a pale white as I ball my hands into fists.

I only halt my pacing as she wanders close to me, unafraid of my ire. "Are you angry because I risked letting him know what we were actually here for, or because he was flirting with me?" she asks, those azure orbs narrowed skeptically at me.

Forcing myself to stay still, I avert my gaze, staring blankly down at the pavement below us. She always does this, every time without fail. Clare never lets me get away with anything, instead calling me out on my hypocrisy and double standards.

Her hands rest on my chest, and at once, my eyes fly back to hers warningly. "Clare- no." I attempt, but before I can stop her, her lips are on mine, pushing me back against the wall of the establishment.

All sense of reserve I once had leaves me as I touch her waist, gripping and kneading her supple skin in my hands, her dress crinkling in my palm. Somewhere in my mind, I know I'm a fucking imbecile for giving in, but she steals my breath and rationality from me.

Her tongue skims over my bottom lip before slipping into my mouth, teasingly prodding at mine before she retreats.

"I'm yours. All yours, Eli." she whimpers, her hands cupping my face gently. "You're a Theatre major at NYU for Pete's sake, I've been giving you all this credit for being intelligent, yet you can't get this basic fact through your skull."

As if suddenly shocked with the knowledge that she's walking on eggshells with her outburst, Clare backs up, winding her arms around herself and peering around. It's comical, how neither of us can keep ourselves in check. More so, it's incredible how my anger ebbs away at her touch, seemingly gone for good by the time she backs away.

She notices this, taking in my flushed cheeks and satisfied smile.

I decide to throw caution to the wind once more as I take a step towards her, grabbing her hand and lifting it to my lips.

"I'm sorry for being an ass." I whisper against her knuckle, lightly kissing the skin there before lowering it again.

"You're forgiven...on one condition." Clare bites down on her bottom lip, peeking up at me through her curls.

"Oh?" I inquire, and she nods in reply.

"You have to give your _girlfriend_ a piggyback ride." The word girlfriend slips from her lips in a hushed but emphasized tone, making my heartbeat pick up significantly in my chest.

"Twist my rubber arm, _girlfriend_." Turning my back to her, I let out a small 'oof' as she hops on, my hands then gripping her thighs.

"Oh!" she exclaims, making me look up at her. "I'm wearing a dress! I'll flash everyone! Put me down!Now!"

"Too late, Clarebelle. Better pull your dress down before you get charged for indecent exposure."

She squeals as I turn us around and run to the car, shamelessly zigzagging through the parking lot to prolong her embarrassment until I dump her in the passenger side seat of the car, a devious grin painting my lips as I close her door.

_I'm yours. All yours,_ _Eli_, echoes out in my ears all the way home, with her slender arm wrapped around mine, dozing until we reach our apartment.

She'll be the death of me, but I can't think of a better way to go.


	9. Collect Call

**Fucking god it took me two months but here's the next chapter. It's really lengthy, you're welcome. **

**Also the next chapter is mostly written, so it shouldn't be long at all before I update again. Within the next couple days it'll be up, since I've been neglecting it so much. **

**Okay, go read and review please to yell at me for taking so goddamn long and tell me your thoughts. **

* * *

I tried to stop the incessant tapping of my foot, I honestly _tried_. I also tried to stop the way I was slamming everything down on tables and all other surfaces, including but not limited to: my school books, my tea, Eli's coffee, and his car keys. My klutzy nature knows no bounds, and thinking anything but is a severe understatement of how destructive my clumsy hands can be.

It wasn't that I was mad. If anything, I was giggling like a maniac, in spite of the daunting day that lay before me.

My first day at a new school. I feel justified in saying that it'd be enough to make anyone jittery.

Eli certainly wasn't letting up on the torment about it, having watched me scurry around the house like a madwoman for an hour before we left. My mostly unnecessary but quite uncontrollable freaking out seemed like one heck of a show to him, wearing an amused smirk all the while. As if he'd never gone to a new school himself – like NYU was a cake walk on the first day he attended. His smugness isn't warranted, but to a degree, it does talk me down from my proverbial ledge.

Now that we're sitting in the car, preparing to head off to the school, those content nerves begin turning against me, instead morphing into relentless stomach pain inducing ones. Curse my excitable state.

"They're going to think you've got a bad twitch if you don't calm down, Clarabelle." he jokes, starting up his car and then pulling out of the driveway. Half of me wants to beg him to slide right back into his spot and let me stay home, but the other half is eager to get out. A few weeks of being indoors with nothing intellectually stimulating will do that to a person. I've got a bad case of cabin fever.

It's just the fact that I _have_ missed a sizable bit of school that's getting to me. I can't even imagine how much work I must have missed already, how much I'll be forced to catch up with. As if changing schools, moving to another country even wasn't enough to begin with.

"They'll probably look at me like I'm a spectacle anyway. New kid syndrome. I've never envied the new kid on their first day. Or their first week. It looks like pure hell." I grab my messenger bag and rifle through it once more, making sure I have the right notebooks and paperwork for when I arrived. My schedule was taped onto the inside of my folder, and while it was a dweeb thing to do, the system helps me. I need some sort of rhyme and reason to this chaotic, uncharted territory.

Eli's hand wanders over to my knee, squeezing it gently as he turns down the road. His reassuring touch settles my stomach the slightest bit, his fingertips almost sending healing comfort through my bones. "You really need to calm down. You're going to be fine. The more you panic over this, the worse it'll be."

"That's easy for you to say, Mister NYU."

"I hated high school. You know that. It was hell on Earth."

I turn to face him and note the stern expression on his face, one that can't help but fail in being stoic. I do remember Eli being bullied during high school, always coming home with a few bruises or bloody knuckles. A part of me credited it to his instigating ways – how he effortlessly angered people with his endless supply of snarky comments. But he never deserved it, either way. I never liked seeing him come home with a bloody lip, always eager to help him clean himself up before mom got home so she wouldn't worry.

It's always been Eli and I caring for each other. Not to say our mom didn't- but running a one parent household with two kids who generally were hectic in and of themselves couldn't have been easy. I remember many a time Eli telling me to wake up early on a Saturday morning with him, so we could clean the house to the best of our ability and make breakfast for her.

To be fair, said breakfast included poorly made cereal and a piece of fruit, but she always seemed to appreciate it nonetheless.

Now that we're on our own, it's much the same, except we're caring for one another. Between Eli sleeping beside me every night to keep the nightmares at bay, to me rubbing his shoulders when he gets home from school and work, the nurturing hasn't left us. I'm praying it never will; nothing makes me feel as loved as knowing he cares about me.

"But..." I start earning a subtle shift of his eyes to me. "You don't get teased at NYU, right?"

The moment I blurt out the question I feel silly, the mood shifting from tense to teasing as he lets a boisterous laugh rip from his throat, his hand squeezing my thigh once more before returning to the steering wheel.

"No one's stealing my lunch money at recess, babe. Don't worry." he replies as his laughter dies down, my ears missing the sound as soon as it leaves the space between us.

As we pull up to the school, the coil in my belly twists together uncomfortably, each breath coming out shorter than the last as a result. It isn't like me to panic so much, at least not usually. I was reasonably personable back at my old school, but then again, I had been there since I was little. Everything was familiar, I had a core group of friends to hang out with. Not once did I feel alone. Even after Eli left, I still managed to feel at ease.

But all alone, branded the new girl, here at this new school? I'm beginning to wonder if home schooling would have been the safer route. Or maybe dropping out altogether.

As if he can read my mind, Eli parks just a short ways away, close enough for me to scurry over but far enough to supply us with a little privacy.

"If something goes wrong, if you hate it, you know all you have to do is call me and I'll get you." he tells me in a soft, even tone. My eyes are focused down at my lap until he reaches for my chin, tugging it gently in his direction. "I know how tough this is, believe me. But you're going to be alright. You can do this." I watch as he leans forward, my eyes fluttering shut as his lips grace my forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back.

My lips curl into a small smile, the best I can manage before I step out of the car, waving to Eli before stepping onto the curb. He hesitates for a moment, like a parent dropping their kid off for their first day of school ever before driving away.

Once I'm standing all alone, amidst a sea of mostly uptight looking students, I finally force my feet forward. Each step feels like it sucks out a bit more of my soul but I try to tell myself that this could be good. Genuinely good. This could the start to a whole new life for me.

I say this as if dating my brother isn't a major life alteration, but I'm hoping to reignite my own interests, light a flame under my tush to get me moving wherever I need to in life. I never planned to uproot myself to the city, thrust into a completely different environment. But this is where I am now, and this is what I need to do.

It's so much easier said than done.

After meandering down the short path to the double door entrance, I let myself in and immediately feel awash in foreign teen angst, as well as stupidity. Three boys come barreling full speed in my direction, and I narrowly dodge them by squishing myself against a locker, my face making contact with the cold metal. Feeling a chill run through me, I move away from it, thinking I managed to avoid being knocked over by three burly guys the minute I enter the building. What a wonderful first impression.

But as I pull my bag further up my shoulder, I feel a thud against my shoulder, pushing me back a bit until I regain my footing.

"Oh! Shit! My bad, my bad." a voice speaks, one of the boys turning to face me. Anxiety-ridden and thoroughly mortified, I look up, making eye contact with him. His swooping blonde hair hanging just over his eyes should be enough of an indicator to me that he's probably trouble. After all, he did just bang into me. But against my better judgment I give him the time of day, clearing my throat as my nerves swarm within me.

"It's um, it's fine." I answer noncommittally, still aggravated but also eager to get on with my day. I shouldn't be ready to jet out the door already, not even five minutes in.

Before I can turn and walk away, he steps in front of me, blocking my path. "Have I seen you before?" His tone is coy and I don't want much to do with it, only imagining the look that would be on Eli's face if he knew some boy (who had just shoved me) was blatantly trying to flirt with me.

Boldly I meet his gaze, a forced smile painting my lips. "If you have then I believe we have a bit of a stalking issue." I state, feeling dumb for the saying it immediately after. Every time I try to say something witty it all comes out a mess. I'm not sure why I even bother. "I'm new here. My name is Clare."

The grin he wears as I speak is nearly enough to change my first impression, but not quite. "That would explain why I don't know you. I'd recognize a pretty face like yours anywhere."

This time I don't bother hiding my grimace, cringing to myself as I peer around, wondering if I'm about to miss the warning bell. Does this school even have one of those?

"Right. Well..." I crane my head around him, looking at the clock on the wall just behind him. "I should find my locker."

"Oh, but-" he starts in again as I try to move, and this time I can feel my annoyance rising. "I never introduced myself. I'm KC. KC Guthrie."

His broad hand is offered forward and instead of shaking it, I give him a curt, clipped smile. "Clare Edwards." I say, letting him be privy to my last name.

Which I quickly realize is a big mistake.

"Edwards? You'd be in my homeroom then. D through H is that block of lockers." He points to the left and for once, I find his company useful. "I'll help you find your locker. Come on."

Begrudgingly, and because I really could use the help, I follow him, grabbing my folder out of my page and opening it. I peek around inside and spot the paper with my locker number and combination, the latter of which I already have committed to memory.

Reaching it, I quickly undo the lock, smiling to myself briefly as I place my belongings inside. I can feel KC's gaze fixed on me but I ignore it, pushing a stray curl out of my face as I put my books inside.

"That's cute." he says suddenly. My brows knit together as I look up at him, perplexed. The boy towers over me, even more so than Eli. But they both have that bad boy look, as though their bark is so much worse than their bite.

"Pardon?"

"Your book covers. They're cute."

My eyes drop down to the kitten book covers that adorn my textbooks, my cheeks flushing a light pink. "I um, I like kittens." I state stupidly, internally chiding myself yet again as I keep the book for my first class in my bag – Biology.

"More like juvenile." someone just behind me mutters. I can't help but feel offended at this stranger's commentary as I look back, spotting the owner of the voice. Her heels are bigger than my whole face, her perfectly tamed curls nearly consuming her features. Something about her belly shirt and the low slung jeans she wears makes me feel as though _everything_ I am is juvenile to her. The look isn't flattering on her at all but I stay mum, knowing if I don't have anything nice to say, I ought not to speak at all. Everyone here might be rude, but I refuse to be myself.

"Shut up, Bee." KC spits out, my head turning back to my locker as if something fascinating dwells inside. I feel like shoving myself in it and hiding inside for the remainder of the day until I can go home. No bully needs to lock me in, I'd do it all on my own.

"Ooh, KC sticking up for new girl? You just want somewhere warm to stick it. Stop trying so hard."

At her accusation my face feels inflamed, my fight of flight instinct kicking into high gear, the latter bit my obvious choice.

"T-thank you for helping me find my locker." I sputter out to him out of courtesy, quickly slamming the locker shut to rush into my homeroom door in horror.

_Somewhere warm to stick it?_

Goodness, what's wrong with these people?

Once inside, I spot the teacher, her warm smile finally coaxing my to calm down.

"You must be Clare!" she speaks, her tone rich and firm, but not intimidating. A nice change of pace.

Nodding meekly, I grip my books a bit more firmly. "Clare Edwards. Yes. I already got my schedule and locker information from the main office." I tell her, garnering a somewhat impressed looking smile in return.

"You're on top of things. I like that. I'm Miss Dawes. I'll be your homeroom teacher. Also your English teacher. You'll be coming back to this classroom seventh period for my class. Did you find your way here alright?" she asks, and I nod in return even though the honest truth is that things could have been a bit easier.

After she tells me a bit about where certain classrooms and offices are, I sit down at a free seat towards the front. That is, until "Bee" comes in.

"New girl," she hisses, and I reluctantly look up at her.

"My name is Clare-"

"I don't really care what your name is. Let me spare you the social suicide and advise you not to sit at the front. You already look like a big enough dweeb." she spits, as though it would kill her to say something nice.

I don't move at first until she grabs my bag from the side of my desk, bringing it to the back of the classroom with her.

"Hey!" I sputter, bewildered as to how people here are so bold, so presumptuous.

So unabashedly rude.

"Get your ass back here." Her lips curl into a taunting smirk, and with a huff, I relent.

Sitting myself in the desk beside hers, I snatch my bag back protectively. "You seriously have no manners."

"And you're the biggest fucking prude I've seen in a while. Here I am trying to give you some guidance. At least I don't have ulterior motives like Mr. Horndog over there." Her head nods in KC's direction as he waltzes in, not sparing me a smirk as he does.

Goodness, I want nothing to do with him.

"Anyway, my name is Bianca. I'm seriously just trying to spare you a nightmare, kid."

The way she addresses me, as if I'm significantly younger than her irks me a bit but I bite back my response, instead giving her a scrutinizing stare. "Pray tell, how are you sparing me anything? You stole my bag, called me juvenile and prude and-"

"People will eat you alive here, alright? Your little...good girl appearance and shit. The kitten covers..." she trails off, and while I admit she has a point, I'm not too eager to change to spare myself scrutiny, for the sake of others. But her words make me a bit self conscious, my complexion betraying me as per usual.

"You really think so?"

She scoffs, as though I'm naïve for even asking. Maybe I am. "I _know _so. Just let me be your guide to this place, yeah? You're in good hands."

The warning bell rings before I can rebut, and Miss Dawes starts taking attendance. Out of respect I keep my mouth shut, but I can't help but wonder if I'm in good hands at all with Bianca. It's not like I have many options though, so I keep my skepticism to myself.

* * *

It was after my Ethics class that she caught me. The moment I noticed her bouncy, ridiculously high-set pigtails, I should have run for the hills. I always know this but the girl has ancestors who were ninjas, I swear it. I was nearly frozen in the proverbial headlights as she wandered over, the residue of our last altercation still adorning her face. She was intimidated by me; startled. Good, I don't want her to feel safe around me. I sure as hell couldn't care less about her well-being at this point.

"Elijah, we need to talk."

It was the first sign of trouble, and if I had been wise at all, I would have jetted however haphazardly and left. I wasn't going to like whatever she had to say and I knew it. But no, I stayed right there, right in that goddamn spot that I still feel like I'm rooted to, at this very moment.

"I'm fairly certain that there's actually nothing to talk about." I quickly corrected her but even with my sidestep, she was ready to block my path. Cat-like reflexes.

"Is that why your father has been calling me? Addressing me as your girlfriend when clearly, I'm not anymore?"

It was as though she knew she would suck the air out of my lungs, her expression unrelentingly stoic, her tone venomous and betraying her external calm. I'm not sure which she was more upset about: my father contacting her out of the blue or being reminded that I'm no longer dating her. Knowing Imogen, it's the latter but I couldn't care less about that bit.

Before I can properly put together a reply, she was yapping again. "Something about your little sister. And I just thought to myself, _what has Elijah Goldsworthy been hiding from me this whole time_?" As if she was fully entitled to interrogate me, she walked in a semi circle around me. She was failing in making me feel uncomfortable or trapped. But I was certainly growing more irate as the seconds ticked by. It's a special skill of hers, I'm sure of it.

"What did he say? When did he speak to you?"

"Oh, so _now_ you're getting defensive. Elijah gets up in arms about his little sister, duly noted."

It took every ounce of my self control not to wipe the smug smirk off her face with my own hand.

"Are you going to stop being a bitch and tell me what he said?"

The only way to get through to her is callous phrasing and insults. Her resolve broke right then, and in dribs and drabs I caught the pieces of information I needed.

He had called her three days ago, saying he knew she was in contact with me, and was one of the few who had a way to reach me. Although, he was wrong about us being an item. He told her I was being "unreasonable" and just wanted to speak to me about Clare's living situation.

"_He misses you both, Elijah." _she tried to tell me sincerely, as though she really believed him. And she probably did. He has a way with words when it comes to those who don't know better. He's a charmer. It was always something my mom said I adopted from him, but at times, I don't know whether it was a compliment or a stab at my character. I want no piece of him.

According to her, he made it abundantly clear that he was intent on finding a place in our lives. But to me, that only means cutting me out of the equation so he can have her to himself again.

Before we parted, she handed me a piece of paper with a number scrawled in her neat cursive on it.

"_Do the right thing." _he told me.

I stuffed the number in my pants pocket with every intention of tearing it up and throwing it in the trash later.

Now that I'm climbing the stairs to the apartment, all I can think about is getting Clare in my arms, feeling her right up against my chest and knowing she's right there, that no one's going to step in the way of us.

As I enter, I see her immediately, as though she was waiting for me.

"I missed you so much! I've been waiting for you!"

Well, there's my clarification.

The weight of the world doesn't have a place on my shoulders as I take her in, dropping my bag to the floor before I wander over to her. "I missed you so much." I tell her honestly, wrapping my arms around her frame and lifting her off of the floor. "Tell me about your first day. You're not a mess of tears and I didn't get a phone call, so I'm assuming all went well?"

Her hand travels into my hair and she ruffles it, letting a few strands fall in front of my eyes. I place her down and she begins toying with my hair again, smoothing it back once more. "It was...interesting."

"Interesting? Elaborate?" Grabbing her hand, I pull her along into the bedroom, eager and hungry for any bit of proximity to her I can get. The closer I get to her skin, the farther away I feel from all the problems and things stacked up against us. Luckily Clare can't feel the pressure but I sure as hell can. But when she's touching me, she cools the burn from it all, and replaces it with a serene euphoria that I just want to revel in. She's a remedy, if there ever was one.

I shut the door once we're both in and gently shove her onto the bed, her mischievous grin mirroring mine almost exactly. She falls with a small 'oof' onto the bed, her curls strewn all around her head. For a moment I simply stand over her, admiring her.

"Come down here and maybe I will." she prompts, wiggling her brows at me tauntingly. I lower myself to her frame and she picks off my shirt immediately, no hesitation present in her discarding of my clothes. We're comfortable enough with each other now, perhaps even too comfortable for our relation. It stills dawns on me that this is about as wrong as a person can get, as immoral as they come. But I've also realized that it takes more effort to try and give a damn than it does to take off her clothes and give her a scream inducing orgasm. I live to hear her moaning my name.

I give her the same treatment, pulling down the top of her dress and then removing her bra, immediately tugging one of her breasts into my mouth. Eagerly I suck on her, kneading her opposite breast in my hand. Her tiny mewls spur me on, her hips already starting to buck into mine. I've created a monster with her but I don't regret it.

"As you were saying?" I ask, returning my mouth to her mound.

"Well, I-I-" she starts, unable to pull a full sentence out of her lust driven, frenzied mind as I work on her.

"Hmm?" I hum, influencing her back to arch against me.

"I made a couple friends, well...I m-mean..." she pauses to sigh, my fingers flicking against her hardened nub as I look up at her, a small grin present while I keep my mouth on her. It's too much fun to challenge her like this. I always get my way. "One of them I don't want to bother with so much but I met a girl named Bianca in home- home..."

"Homeroom?"

She moans out a breathy 'yes', as if she's terribly passionate about homeroom. I chuckle against her flesh and decide to up the ante, my hands traveling down to her tights.

Tugging them down her legs, I toss the article aside and position myself between her legs, rubbing my palms up and down her thighs. "And what's she like?"

"She's really bold."

"Bitchy?"

Scoffing, she nods. "I was trying to be nice." She only pauses for a second before speaking again. "And another girl, in my History class. Her name is Alli, she's really nice. We b-both like vampire novels."

With a judgmental expression on my face I look up at her before turning away again, mentally chiding her for her wretched taste in literature. One would think at least some of my good taste would rub off on her in her time here. No such luck.

My fingers grab at the waistband of her panties, pulling them off her legs impatiently before settling down again. I can feel her eyes on me, practically burning holes through my forehead but I refuse to meet her gaze, instead staring at her swollen, wet core.

"Keep talking, baby."

She squirms a bit, trying to jerk her hips up towards me but I pin them down my arm, using my other hand to rub at her gently. I can tell each touch isn't nearly enough to sate her.

"But, I want you to-"

"I will, talk to me." I promise, and she huffs out in exasperation.

"I hate you."

Smirking to myself, I shake my head, pushing her dress up a bit. "Liar." Dipping my head down between her thighs without warning, I take a first experimental lick, then pressing my tongue against her. Soon enough I can't tell what moisture is mine and what's hers- her taste so prominent and folds so wet. She's not shy about getting what she wants, practically riding against my mouth as I work her over, my tongue alternating between prodding at her clit and swiping along her slit.

My eyes peer up for a moment and she's gripping the sheets, her other hand winding itself into my hair angrily. But even with her silent begs for more, I make her stir a bit longer, making my movements more languid.

"Please, _please_, Eli."

"Begging, are we?"

She answers with a shove of her hips, one that claws a satisfied moan out of me. I skim my lips over her swollen sex, then attaching them firmly to suck on her. In no time at all she's crying out, nearly tearing my hair straight out of my skull as the pressure mounts within her. I push a finger inside her when I know it's coming. When she starts clenching against me it's all over, and I know without a doubt that watching Clare lose it at my touch will forever be my favorite sight. Her dampened, sweat soaked forehead, her heaving chest and bucking hips – all for me. I'm a greedy bastard but she never denies me this glorious sight.

I only take my mouth off her and finger out once she's completely finished, her breathy pants replacing her desperate moans.

Once I'm beside her again on the bed, I turn on my side, smiling peacefully at her. She's still letting the high wash over her and I don't mind being a witness to it one bit. God, she's so beautiful-

"Your turn." she suddenly states, reaching for my belt with her tiny hands.

"My turn?" I repeat, dumbfounded. As often as I've been getting Clare off, she hasn't done much to me yet outside of touching over my boxers, and that's been fine with me. Although I'm aching to feel her warm palm over me, I'm never going to push the issue. At times I almost feel like I'm protecting her from myself, hardly trusting my own ability to control myself.

Her eyes roll at me, and it's hard to believe that she's the same girl who was exhausted from her climax mere moments before. "Unless you'd absolutely hate letting me give it a shot." she teases, and I can't pretend like the idea isn't appealing. Once the belt is undone, she starts at the buttons of my jeans. "I've never done this before so...I just-"

I pause her, cupping her chin so she'll look at me. "No pressure, at all. We can take our time with this. I know you'll be great, babe."

Demurely she nods, tugging on my pants once the button and zipper are undone.

I'm so close to that ecstasy, so damnably, ridiculously close. And then just like that, the thing I never intended for Clare to see rears its head.

She notices the clump of paper jutting out of my pocket as she tugs my jeans down, and before I can snatch it away from her, her eyes are skimming over the number.

"This...this is a girl's number?" she questions carefully, as though any answer I give will be a lie because she already knows. Even though she doesn't. God, she has no idea.

The fear traveling through my veins kills the erection I was working on, the mood entirely ruined by the severity of the matter. "No." I state firmly, but before I can elaborate, she's on my case.

"But this handwriting is most definitely female, Eli. Didn't we agree not to date anyone else while we're together? Or was that just a rule for _me_ to follow? You still get to sleep around with any girl you want?"

My heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my chest and I just want her to shut up for one fucking second so I can explain, or at least try to. I can't tell her the truth. The truth would be worse than saying it's a girl's number.

"It's just a friend." I try to blurt out, but she just throws a sardonic, painful laugh my way.

As if I could ever choose another girl over her, she really doesn't get it.

"A friend? A friend you can sleep with? Am I not enough?!" It's when she starts crying that I try to reach for her but she recoils, pulling her dress up her torso and covering herself. "This isn't fair! It's not fair at all, Eli!"

Frustrated, I lean forward, trying to grab it from her again. "It's not what you think!"

"Oh?" Her eyes light up with an idea and before she even says it, I don't like the way this is headed. "Then if I call and ask her if you two are just friends, she'd agree, right?"

It feels like my worst nightmare is coming true as the scenario plays out in my head, her hearing his voice and then this whole situation collapsing before my eyes. Before I can do anything to make it better, to get him away from us. Before I have any chance to troubleshoot.

"N-no, don't do that, Clare..."

She takes her phone and begins dialing, my hands immediately winding around her, trying to rip the phone from her grasp.

"Get off me!" Her voice is a shrill and I'm literally terrified of her right now – afraid of her and for her, for what she'll hear if he picks up the phone, for what she'll know if she manages to get through to him.

Reluctantly I let go, not wanting to hurt her.

She scrambles out of the room and I feel frozen in my spot, counting the seconds until she comes back. When she does, she'll know and she'll hate me. She'll leave and god knows where she'll end up. There's nowhere for her in the city except with me. I love her, I need her, she needs me. This wasn't how she was supposed to find out. I was supposed to disengage the situation before she ever _could _find out.

But when she comes back, she throws her phone down on the bed bitterly, handing the crumbled paper back to me. "You're _so_ lucky she didn't pick up."

I can't fight off the sigh of relief leaving me at her words, though she misconstrues it as an admittance of guilt.

"I'm not sleeping with anyone else Clare, I promise,"

"Save it. I don't want to hear it."

She falls asleep with her back facing towards me, her mind and heart a million miles away from me. I don't have room in me for anyone but her, but already I can feel her pushing me aside. I don't sleep, only toss and turn, fruitlessly hoping to see her turn towards me in her sleep to no avail. I always knew my secrets would forge a wall between us, but this wasn't one I saw coming.


	10. Satellite

**There's a week time skip before this chapter, just so you know. **

**Also, I can't guarantee a speedy update after this one, seeing as though this has been written for a _long_ time and I don't know where to head next with the story. I might discontinue it for a while. ****But we'll just see.**

**And...I don't really know what this chapter is, like shit this just took on a life of its own. **

**But enjoy. Review if you like. **

* * *

"Is that all the cleavage you're willing to show? We're going to a club, not a carnival, Saint Clare." Bianca snaps, tugging down the front of the halter top I'm wearing. The black studded shirt doesn't seem my speed at all, my creamy skin making an appearance that it normally doesn't.

I wouldn't call myself a prude, necessarily. Even if Bianca would, and has. I never see the need to show more skin than absolutely necessary, but I don't wear turtlenecks either. Modestly would be an appropriate word for how I dress. No one ever seemed to have a problem with it, before Bianca at least.

I can't even pretend to emulate her free spirit. She's got it all. An attitude that intimidates and lures men in, a body that puts all else to shame, and she dresses herself to compliment it all. I feel like a protege of her dressed like this, gaudy makeup all over my face, clunky jewelery around my wrists.

The cross around my neck feels like such a lie, dressed this way. She even straightened my hair. This is a version of myself that I don't recognize. But, I like her. This is one that Eli never would consider bossing around, or cheating on. This is a Clare that would dominate the discussion.

As well as everything in the bedroom.

I feel my cheeks flush a light shade of pink from my own thoughts, though I stay mum, as always. It's gotten to the point where I rarely speak of Eli even in a brotherly context. I've never been a good liar, and I feel as though my face lights up like a sure telltale sign whenever he's brought up. For all intents and purposes, he's merely my brother, who I feel indifferent about.

Bianca seems to buy it each time, thankfully. She's not a nosy girl. Perhaps a bit too self-absorbed but that suits me just fine. As the very first friend I've made at this new school, I'm not in a position to be picky.

The week has been a tiring one, chock full of arguing the moment Eli and I wake up. I'd try my best to tolerate his bickering, if he gave me a redeeming factor or two to remember in the midst of his tirade. Instead, his over-protective nature just ends up feeling stifling, suffocating.

It was what drove me to take Bianca up on her offer to hang out after school. I know I must have walked into homeroom a complete mess, still on my first week of school, no less. The chances of making a good impression were dwindling quickly and I knew it. Even though Alli, from science class offered to have me over for a sleepover, I couldn't say no to Bianca. _No one_ says no to Bianca, it's just not something you can manage with how persuasive she is.

And either way, it was abundantly clear how much more rebellious her plans would be over Alli's. I'm aiming to make Eli worry, not placate him with my safety.

"How are we going to sneak in?" I ask, feeling like such a noob as I pile on some more eyeliner, my face resembling a raccoon more and more with each added layer.

"I know a guy," she mumbles sweetly as she adjusts her hair, tousling her curls just so.

My eyes widen at her and she smiles, answering my unspoken question.

I don't want to fathom the places Bianca DeSousa's mouth has been.

Either way, it seems as though we'll be able to get in, even if I don't look a day over sixteen. This makeup and clothing won't fool anyone. If anything, it makes me look younger, just for how ridiculous it all looks.

It seems Bianca can read my mind as she stops primping her own hair, then walking over to me. "Stop fidgeting like that, you're going to ruin the nice job I did on your nails." she says, swatting my hand away from my mouth.

I look back down at my fingers, thankful that the black didn't chip too much. I resemble Eli's style so much right now, wearing black head to toe, my nails even smothered in the shade.

Part of me wonders if he'd like this getup or if he'd prefer how I usually look. Not that he gets a say in this, since I have no intentions of coming back home looking this way.

I feel Bianca's eyes staying on me, and I swallow the lump in my throat that forms. Her stare can make me freeze like a deer in headlights. I'm not even sure why. I'd like to think I'm not the only one she has that effect on.

"Your tits aren't half bad, you know, when you actually show them." she smirks, batting her eyelashes in a way that makes me wonder in what light she was scrutinizing me. I've never, _ever_ taken an interest in a woman but with the way she stares...

_No, Clare. Control yourself._

I breathe out, closing my eyes and then returning my gaze to my reflection. Tonight won't be an average one, but I'm tired of the average. The mundane. Doing things by Eli's book. He may be my boyfr- _brother_, but his control freak tendencies are working on my last nerve. He doesn't need to know where I am all night. Quite obviously I'm not privy to every one of his outings, and who he's with. It's only fair that I get to have some separate fun too.

Even if I'm still really bitter over finding that number.

The hour hand hits eleven, and I hear Bianca's compact click closed. "Come on, Mother Theresa. We've got places to go."

"I'm hardly Mother Theresa material anymore." I quip back, slightly offended at her comment. I wouldn't be dressed like this if I was trying to copy a nun. My appearance screams teenage rebellion.

"Until I see you dancing up on some guy at the club, you're Mother Theresa to me."

Her words come across as a challenge to me, one I'll willingly accept. I can't dance for the life of me, but here's hoping the skill finds me. And quickly.

We get inside her car and drive the short way to the club. All the while, I feel myself chewing on my nails but I can't stop myself until she slaps me again, my hand shooting back down to my lap.

"If you fuck up those nails, so help me God, Edwards." she hisses, but then smiles a moment afterward. I can't say I fully understand Bianca, but I'm about done trying to. She runs about as hot and cold as Eli does.

Once we arrive, I see the long line of people waiting to be let in at the door and my stomach coils up. I don't like crowds, especially ones in the city. My claustrophobia has doubled in intensity since arriving here and now I'm wondering what possessed me to go with Bianca at all. Having a sleepover with that nice girl, Alli, would have been just as fun and enough to piss Eli off, but no, I _had_ to come here.

I'm so very bad at decision making. I'm even worse at realizing it in a timely fashion.

She gestures to me to follow her once we're out of her car, and I nod silently, following along like a lost puppy. For all intents and purposes, I am. I know nothing about the part of the city we've found ourselves in. If I tried to walk off on my own right now, I'd be lost for sure.

We make our way over to the bouncer; a burly, unhappy looking man. I can feel him sizing me up, paying special attention to how my breasts pop out of my top. Now more than ever, I wish I hadn't gone with her. I don't like feeling like a piece of meat to be ogled and used. I've already lived like that once...

"Marcus, let me and my babe in?" Bianca asks, her arm winding around my waist possessively, her eyelashes doing that batting thing that they did at me back in her bathroom.

I can see him drawing up a scenario in his mind in which I would definitely be Bianca's "babe", then letting us in before everyone else.

The way he stared made me sick. What made me feel even worse though was the fact that she didn't mind at all.

"Babe?" I question, side glancing at her as we walk into the bass thumping room.

"I needed a reason to get you in too. Men can't resist the mental image of two girls fucking." She leans in and kisses my cheek with a wicked grin painting her lips.

Until we reach the booth at the front of the room, I stay quiet, letting her hold onto me until she takes a seat. It seems like she knows everyone here, chatting them up like old friends. I zone out for a moment, trying to take in the sights.

It's all body heat and heart pounding music, seizure inducing lights and sex on the dance floor. I feel so juvenile in a place like this, both because I am too young to be here, and because everyone else seems to know what they're doing. I'm a sitting duck, transfixed by all the illegal goings-on and every scantily clad woman who walks by.

Maybe I really am Mother Theresa in comparison to them. My mini skirt luckily doesn't ride up when I bend over, like most of theirs do. Still, I feel disoriented in comparison to how I normally look, even if I blend in perfectly here.

I push my hair out of my eyes, hating how it tends to flop in front of my face when it's straightened.

"Here, drink up, Mama T." Bianca commands, shoving a small glass in my hand.

My eyes narrow at it. "A shot?"

She nods her head as if I'm a nimrod for even asking. "Can't handle it? You need to loosen the fuck up or you're going to hate it here."

I consider it for a moment, the small shot glass mocking my innocence.

"Do you want your brother to worry or not? If so, drink it."

Her words are all the encouragement I need, a brave face working its way onto my features as I chug it down, my features then contorting uncomfortably as I feel it burn all the way down my throat.

Bianca smiles to me, then taking her own. She grabs another and puts it in my hands, but not before leaning in to my ear.

"Good girl," she whispers sweetly, in a way similar to how Eli does, but her voice is smoother.

I don't even think about a thing as I take a third and fourth shot from her, my mind swimming by the time she drags me out onto the dance floor.

* * *

When I get home, there's an unsettling silence in the house, and I know it's because of the fight I had with Clare.

She doesn't understand how precarious things are- she really doesn't. That's partly my doing for not cluing her into it, but how does one even do that?

_Remember our dad? The one who abused you for years? He's fighting tooth and nail to get you back and I'm busting my ass to make sure that doesn't happen. Why didn't I tell you sooner? You didn't need to know yet._

That's the most reasonable and true explanation I can draw up in my mind, but it offers no comfort. It stills comes up empty, ultimately.

I have to hold her close, almost suffocatingly so. If she's one moment late from school, that's a risk. If I let her out of my sight, that's another risk. They're all prime opportunities for him to snatch her. And then what would I do?

I'd search to the ends of the Earth for her but I don't put a damn thing past that man. He has more power and influence than I ever could hope to acquire. He has friends in high places, and that's working against me.

Her nightmares haven't lessened much in the time she's spent here. She still tosses and turns. She still screams for an invisible figure to let her go, to stop touching her. She calls out for me to help her, and when that happens, I just wake her up. I can't stand to hear her so helpless, even in her sleep.

I keep failing her. Years ago. Even now.

My footsteps pick up in pace as I scour the house for her, my pulse racing as I realize she's nowhere to be found. It's eleven at night. She's supposed to be here. I already told her I'd be home late because of play practice. There's no feasible reason for her to not be here.

I grab my cell phone and dial her number, holding the screen to my face as it goes straight to voicemail.

"Damn it Clare!" I spit out, pacing the length of our bedroom, my eyes checking for her book bag, her purse, anything to show she might be around. But they're both gone. She's gone.

While I'm trying not to jump to conclusions, I find it nearly impossible. She could be anywhere in the city. She could even be far gone from here. My palms start perspiring, my breathing becoming shallow as I work myself into a panic attack.

_Cool it, Goldsworthy. You need to keep your head on straight._

I remember the list of numbers she left on the fridge after I hounded her about needing to know where she was. Though she wrote it out reluctantly to appease me, I'm glad she did. There's only about five numbers, but that's five chances to figure out where she could be.

Surely, she could just be at a friend's house, attempting to regain her bearings like I did at practice. I wouldn't be happy with her if that was the case, but at least I'd know she was safe.

The first number gives me hope, as a bubbly, chirpy female picks up.

"Hi, uh, I'm Clare Edward's brother, Eli. Do you know where she could be...Alli?' I question, realizing I must sound horribly mechanical and panicked, but there's no helping that.

"Oh...I had no idea Clare had a brother!" she says cheerily, but the words make my blood boil. Is she _ashamed_ of me? Ashamed of what we've become? The concerns work their way into the back of my mind as I push on, needing answers.

"I- yeah, she does. Just, she isn't home and it's really late. She's not usually out this long. Do you know where she could be?"

I hear girly laughter in the background and hope wells inside me, knowing Clare could easily be one of the girls I'm hearing.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I invited her over for a sleepover earlier. She came to school crying and I thought maybe she could use an escape. But she ended up talking to Bianca about a club afterward." I can hear the disdain in her tone as she says this other girl's name, and it makes my blood run cold.

"A club?" I repeat, dumbfounded. Clare, at a club. _My Clare_ at a club? This sounds like such a meager attempt at a practical joke, something lame enough that Clare might actually think I'd fall for.

"I really, really wish I could tell you more. That's all I heard. That Bianca girl though...I don't like her. I might be bias, but I wish Clare had come over to my house instead." It strikes me to question her further, but her sincerity seems to ring out in her words.

"No, it's alright. That helps, it helps considerably. I'm going to try finding her." I pause, thinking to myself. "If she shows up there, give this number a call, alright?" I ask, to which I receive her promise to.

Shortly after hanging up, I'm in my car, driving towards the only club I can think of that lets in minors. Out of the dozens upon dozens of clubs in this city, I'm hoping my instincts are leading me in the right direction.

I'll check every goddamn one all night long if I need to.

* * *

My body sways almost without my permission, a lightweight, warm sensation flooding through my system. I can feel Bianca in front of me, but it's hard to make out her face with everything going on around me.

Her fingers drum on my waist as she dances, her eyes flitting around all around us to see who happens to be watching, I assume.

And we've acquired quite the audience. All male, of course. There's still that nagging voice in the back of my head telling me this is wrong. That I've gotten myself into a very sticky situation which may or may not have an out. But it's too late. My brain is already swimming with alcohol, my inhibitions and fears mostly tucked away in the recesses of my liquor riddled mind.

If Eli saw me now, I'd be dead in a second.

"Everyone thinks you're so damn cute." Bianca half yells, half whispers into my ear, and I can feel myself smiling at the fact. I've never really felt desirable before now, except for with Eli. And that carries its own bizarre quality which makes it hard to trust.

"I think you're the cute one." I yell back, my own voice slurring the words together as I smile at her.

She pulls me in closer, our chests pressed closer together, her lips lingering dangerously close to mine.

"You wanna stop being Mother Theresa now?" she says against my lips, and I feel myself aching to get closer to her. To touch her lips with my own and let it engulf me. I'm too shy, even when inebriated to make the move but my heart stops when I feel her leaning in. She catches my bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling on it a bit before letting me go. I'm entranced as I eye her lips curling up, smirking seductively.

I see her nodding her head behind me, a broad, dark haired man lurking not far behind us. I can see his eyes are trained on my ass. This should offend me, I know it should, but it's almost exciting to me now.

Bianca trails her hands down my frame, gripping my backside and pulling her to me. She kneads my ass, her sharp nails digging in through the material of my skirt. My eyes loll to the back of my head as I lean into the crook of her neck, and I can feel her yelling to the man behind me.

"You want some of this?" she asks, and once more, I feel like meat, but I say nothing. Truth be told, I'd rather stay with Bianca, with her hands moving all over me but quickly she lets me go, gently pushing me back into the arms of a man I don't know.

He towers over me, his large frame looming over my significantly tinier one.

"Hi." I yell out to the man like an idiot, giving Bianca a panic driven stare as she winks, then finding someone else to dance with in the crowd.

"Hey baby," he says back, leaning down to look at me. "You're a wasted little thing, aren't you?"

My words feel lodged in my throat as I try to reply, but he's right. Nothing about my body feels normal right now, and I can't completely stand up without support. He's more than willing to offer it, his hands fixing themselves around my ribs, positioning us so my ass is rubbing against his crotch.

I try to move away but I'm too drunk, my body swaying fruitlessly instead. I can feel a humming in his chest against my back, which I assume is his laughter. "Don't worry baby, I'm going to make you feel good. You stay right here with me."

I nod obediently, a string of moans leaving me as he cups my breasts harshly, his front thrusting against my back. As crazy as I know it all is, I start liking it, letting him grope me as much as he likes while I roll my hips against him.

It all becomes more intense, his hands beginning to fish under my top when I hear a loud yell, my body freezing as I hear it. Suddenly the man is jerked off of me, a familiar face then turning me around to face him.

"I- I...what are you doing here?" I spit out, caught off guard as Eli wraps his hand around my wrist in a death grip.

"What the _fuck_ are _you _doing here?" he retorts, his voice far louder than anyone else around us. I can see Bianca nearby, cringing as she watches the scene play out.

He looks enraged, his eyes dilated without the aid of drugs or alcohol. His grip on my wrist only tightens and for a moment, I'm actually fearful of him. I've never seen my brother look this unhinged, at least because of me.

But the longer I make him wait for an answer, the more ballsy I become. The alcohol starts speaking on my behalf, making me blurt out nonsense I never would otherwise.

"You can't keep me home, _Daddy_." I drawl out, not even sure why I'm calling him dad other than the parental mention, and the added fact that we both despise him. "I'm not your little prisoner. I can go out and have fun if I want to." I pull down the front of my shirt a bit, exposing my breasts more to him.

It's nothing he hasn't seen, but I can tell it's getting to him. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, and I smirk at my handiwork. I know how to make Eli eat out of the palm of my hand.

* * *

Her smug little smirk makes me shake with fury, her breath reeking of alcohol. My little baby sister, here of all places. I could barely believe the predicament she found herself in. I could only imagine the things she'd already done while I was waiting for a half hour in line.

Nothing she says makes sense, and her calling me "daddy" only makes me more angry. She knows. She _knows_ what that means to us and she did it on purpose.

"You're dressed like a little slut." My words are harsh and I don't care. That's exactly how she looks, with her breasts all but bursting out of her shirt and her skirt riding up her thighs.

"Like _your _little slut," I feel her reaching for my shoulders pulling her closer to me as she starts to dance.

This isn't Clare. This isn't the sweet, oftentimes timid, brilliant Clare I've become so accustomed to. I can't even try to estimate how much she must have had to drink to turn her into this.

Briskly, I jerk her away, my eyes widening at her. "Are you fucking losing your mind?" Just then, the music changes to something a bit slower, the room darkening considerably. I can barely see anyone around us, Clare even becoming a black blur before me. Protectively, my hands reach for her, to keep her near me.

"Dance with me." she says loudly, leaning up to my ear. I shake my head, but her body is beckoning me. Everything about her is getting to me and I'm not even drunk. I hate the way she can sway my rational mind.

Her mouth curls into a pout, and I shake my head again. "Just one dance? Then you can take me home and get mad at me." she giggles, tilting her head questioningly at me. I know she'll make a drunken scene if I don't do it.

But more so, I want to. I hated seeing that other guy dancing with her. Clare is _mine_. I want everyone to know that.

My attempts to resist finally fall through as I spin her around, pulling her close to my body.

She all but melts into me, her hands grabbing mine and placing them on her hips. She dances like a woman possessed, with a confidence I never knew Clare could exude. It's sexy as hell, if I'm being honest.

My head leans down to her neck, my teeth sinking into her creamy skin as her hips roll again and again against me.

"You're _mine_, Clare. I don't want you ever dancing with someone like that again," I pant into her ear, my hands gripping her hips in a bruising manner.

I hear her whimper but she doesn't reply. To get an answer out of her, my hand skims up her chest, gripping her breast. "You'll never dance with someone like that again?" I question, my finger brushing over her hardened nipple. The only way to get a grip on Clare sometimes is to make her so senselessly aroused that she'll say yes to anything.

She arches into my hand as she nods. It's enough for me, at least if she never overindulges in alcohol again. I place a gentle kiss against her ear. "That's my good girl."

We spend the rest of the song gyrating against one another, my hand eventually slipping into her top and groping her in the pitch black of the room. She moans and whimpers at my touches, and I feel like a power hungry monster. It's all too easy to get drunk with control and lust when it comes to this girl.

With my free hand, I run my hand down to her ass, groping it and then holding her as close to me as I possibly can. I get lost in her. Her scent, her revealing clothes, the way she pants out my name. I convince myself that no one else in the room could affect her like I have, and they never will.

Once the song ends, she turns to me, her eyes darkened with a lust I know my own are mirroring.

"We're going home." I mutter impatiently. Clare nods in reply, no fight left in her.

I wrap my arm around her, holding her protectively to my side. If anyone tries to pry her away from me, I'll make sure it's the very last thing they do.

As the cold air hits us outside, I shudder in relief, the air in the club far too humid and heated for my taste. But Clare looks uncomfortable, goose bumps lifting on her skin. I pause, shrugging off my leather jacket and then placing it over her.

The smile I receive in return lets me know that all the trouble, all the worrying, it was plenty worth it to get her back.

She dozes off as we drive home, the intoxication finally hitting her. I let her sleep, playing the radio softly to keep myself company.

The song sounds familiar to me and I register it as The Kills, one of Clare's favorite bands. I love having these little facts about her now, knowing her far better than I used to.

It took far too long to reach that point with her, but better late than never.

Once we reach the apartment, I carefully lift her limp, sleepy body from the passenger side and carry her inside.

She looks like such a fucking mess. Her straight hair is getting curly again in places, her makeup is smudged, but she looks like the cutest badass I've ever seen, especially in my jacket to top it all off.

Had she not been in a club, extremely drunk, I might have encouraged the look. But even then, nothing beats seeing her in those flowery dresses and sweaters. _That's_ my Clare. The one I know and love.

I relieve her of my heavy jacket as she half consciously gets comfortable on the bed, then pulling off a pair of leather boots I didn't know she had. Eventually she's in her favorite pajamas, cozy under the covers.

I strip off my clothes, climbing into bed beside her in my boxers and t shirt. After clicking off the light, I can feel my own eyes getting heavy. I curl up against her, tucking my head against her neck when I hear her singing drunkenly to herself.

"_Steam's working I see it, in everyone. _

_Like a lost idea, under a light bulb sun. _

_Your eyes, ready for takeoff, melt in your head._

_What a beautiful state we're in."_

I can't help but grin as she attempts feebly to sing the lyrics to the song in the car, one I didn't even realize she was aware enough to hear.

I run my hand up and down her arm, nuzzling my head against her as I sing back,

"_Jailers in my mind, are all dead. _

_I love you so much, never forget._

_All of our secrets, coming undone. _

_What a beautiful state we're in. _

_Goodnight, another bad morning."_


End file.
